


"Make Mycroft Happy!" Or: God Has A Strange Sense Of Humour

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Blasphemy, Fluff, Humor, In a nice way :), M/M, Smut, Sort Of, elvis songs, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: After Sherrinford, Sherlock runs into danger once more and this time he's not lucky. He finds himself in the tunnel with the bright light ahead and begs God for a second chance. He gets it – under one tough condition… Will he be able to make his brother happy within five days?





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletmanuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> If you are overly religious (and still ship incest :) ), better don't read this. God is not how you imagine him :) I totally fell for him while writing this.

Something was wrong.

Completely, _fucking-hell_ -like wrong like this entire day had been since he had decided to ignore Lestrade's and John's warnings and go into the lion's den by himself and without telling anyone. Bad idea…

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head, took a deep breath and opened his eyes again.

Nothing had changed.

A moment ago he had been in “Cunning” Colin Carruther's villa, tied to a chair, slapped in the face by “Sweetie” Bill Bolling, one of his huge bodyguards, his veins full of a drug that had been supposed to make him say everything he knew about CC's illegal activities. Sherlock had refused to do it. He was used to taking hard drugs after all. So CC had given him some more. And Sweetie had slapped him just to make sure.

And all at once he was here. Wherever _here_ was.

Sherlock had his suspicions and they were not exactly pleasant even though it just couldn’t be because the place the circumstances indicated didn’t exist.

He heard Mycroft's voice in his head when he had told him and John about Sherrinford: _“Heaven may be a fantasy for the credulous and the afraid…”_

Like his brother, Sherlock had never believed in an afterlife or God or anything beyond science.

But still he was slowly drifting through a long, dark tunnel with a blinding bright light in front of him, his feet not touching any ground as there was none; under him was only more darkness. There was no angelic music though or long deceased relatives greeting him from this disturbing light (even though to be fair Sherlock couldn’t imagine that any of his deceased relatives would welcome him at the gates of heaven anyway… even if they had ever made it there…).

Sherlock had always been a man of logic. But this just couldn’t happen.

He couldn't be _dead_ … He was only thirty-seven! He was smarter than anybody!

All at once he started moving faster, drawn to the eye-wrecking light like an oversized, paralyzed moth.

And then he stumbled into an office room.

A plain, normal, boring office room with an ugly green carpet, light-brown walls and a big grey desk, and behind it, looking at a computer screen (!), there was an old man with a white beard.

_Oh, fuck…That's it! There is a God in the end I never believed in. And I'm dead…_

“Take a seat, Sherlock.” The old man pointed at the chair on the other side of the desk, only that it wasn’t an old man with a fuzzy, long beard anymore. It was a woman around twenty with a tight shirt that revealed more of her boobs than Sherlock had ever wanted to see from any woman. But she was speaking with a deep, masculine voice.

“Come on. We're in quite a hurry,” he was admonished, this time by a young man in a soldier's uniform with soulful eyes and an accurate haircut.

Feeling completely confused and dizzy, Sherlock sat down. The chair felt hard under his butt. Too hard for dreaming…

“Good boy,” said an elderly lady with neat, grey hair, still in the deep, sonorous voice.

“Who are you?” Sherlock finally asked. His voice sounded raspy.

“Oh, I'm God. My PA is busy elsewhere so I'm doing the legwork today. You know – being the one who decides where you will go from here.” The sixteen-year-old boy behind the desk pointed at a hole in the ground that had just opened up.

Sherlock gasped when he saw flames and smoke. He was sure he heard someone scream from far away.

“There or…” A window opened in the wall, showing white clouds and smiling figures.

“But I can't be dead! You made a mistake!” Sherlock cried out.

The carrot-haired, dangerously thin woman opposite of him chewed on her bubble gum and shook her head. “Wasn't planned, yeah. You were rather silly, right? Going in there all alone, confronting this criminal with your _deductions_.”

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! It was a mistake! I shouldn’t have gone there so I shouldn’t be dead!”

“Mm. But you did. And he gave you an overdose of a drug called _Lucifer's Light_. Quite fitting, isn't it? So your heart stopped beating and well… Now the story of your life has been rewritten and you died with thirty-seven instead of ninety-six as you were supposed to do.”

Sherlock cringed. _No!_ “Please! There must be a way to make that undone!”

The little girl with the voice of someone who had smoked three packs of cigarettes each day for thirty years crinkled her nose. “We don't negotiate here. We only decide if your life was decent enough for you to enter the bright side or so evil that you will meet the real Lucifer. That's it…”

This all just couldn’t be true! He was on a bad trip, that was all! But just in case it was real, Sherlock had to try everything to not go to hell.

The young man with the missing eye stared at the screen and shook his head. “Wow. You shot someone in the head?”

“Well, yes! But I had to! He wanted to harm my best friend and his wife. And he was an evil man!”

“Mm, yeah. He's down there.” The old woman with the nasty false teeth sent a pointed look to the hole in the ground that had just appeared again.

“Could you… perhaps… not do that?”

“Ah, you need to forgive me my soft spot for the dramatics.”

“So it doesn't really look like this in hell?” Sherlock asked in a hopeful voice.

“Oh, of course it does. And this is only one room of it. Alright…” The teenage girl turned to the monitor again.

“You know I did save a lot of people,” Sherlock hurried to throw in. “Irene Adler for example. And lots of people involved in other cases.”

“Yes. That's definitely an advantage.”

“You could say that I'm on the side of the angels,” Sherlock added, quoting the late Jim Moriarty. He didn’t have to ask where _he_ was now...

“But you aren't one of them.”

Damn… God had a good memory…

Sherlock looked down on his hands that were linked on his thighs. “No.”

God was concentrating on Sherlock's file on the screen again. “You were rather arrogant to people…”

“Yes, but I always helped the police. I tried to be good.” He winced when he looked up to see a five year-old boy on the chair. “Why do you constantly change your appearance?” It was confusing, annoying and a huge distraction for his argumentation!

“Because I don't have a physical manifestation. It would be too complicated to explain, even to you. But what you see are just images from your memory. Your mind palace if you want to call it that. Anyway…”

“Please,” Sherlock begged, leaning forward. “Is there nothing I can do to make you reconsider? Send me back into my life? I swear I'll do better from now on. I'd do anything for a second chance.”

And then the old man from the very beginning was sitting in the chair again. “Anything, huh?” There was an amused twinkle in God's eyes.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, and he had never meant anything more. “Anything.”

The old man nodded. “Alright. I can see that despite all your flaws and failures, you have been a decent man in the long run. And you died way before your time. Okay. You'll get your second chance.”

“Oh, fu… thank you!”

God raised his bushy, white eyebrows. “But only if you manage to fulfil a task I'll give you. If you fail, you'll be back here. Chances are good that you will enter heaven then though. You know, you could do it right now. Many people would die for that! Well…” He sniggered. Now he was a good-looking young man with chocolate-coloured skin.

Sherlock didn’t find it funny at all. “But… I want to live…” He couldn’t imagine being dead. Never seeing John and Rosie and Mrs Hudson again. Never calling Lestrade by the wrong name. Never playing the violin. No!

“You will, if you do what I ask you to.”

“Piece of cake.” No matter what God expected him to do, Sherlock would do it excellently as he did everything.

“Alright, son. It's a pretty easy task actually. You get one day to recover from your nasty little adventure with this drug king and after that you have five days to make somebody truly happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes. Not just _oh-that-was-nice-of-you_ -happy. It must be _you-so-changed-my-life-for-the-better_ -happy. And not with giving money to the person,” God added with a raised forefinger. “You must be the reason for real emotional happiness.”

Sherlock swallowed. That didn’t sound exactly easy… Had he ever made anyone happy? Pissed off, upset, grateful at best, yes. But happy?

God eyed him closely. “I'll have you make three quick decisions and then I'll tell you who is the one in question. Are we clear?”

“Yes.” Sherlock shuffled nervously on his chair.

“Alright, let's go. Man or woman?”

“Man.” Sherlock had never understood women. They were a complete mystery to him. And after all he was gay…

“A stranger or someone you know.” God was looking like a hipster now.

“The latter.” Sherlock struggled enough to connect emotionally with people he knew. He would never succeed in completing his task with anyone he'd just met.

“And the last one: someone you know only slightly or someone very close to you.”

“Close.” It could only be John then, could it? Who else could be called _close to him_? He was feeling way more hopeful now.

“Very well. So… Get prepared to change your brother's life for the better within five days from tomorrow on.”

“My… what?!” That couldn’t be!

The old man was back. “Your brother. Mycroft Holmes.”

“But… you said close!”

“How much closer can anybody be to you?” God gave him an innocent smile but Sherlock could have sworn there was mockery in his eyes.

Sherlock slumped down in his chair. “You can as well send me right through.” Probably even getting sent to _hell_ would be more comfortable than the hopeless try to make Mycroft happy…

“Oh, don't give up so easily. You've never done!”

“But I never had such a hopeless case.”

“Nothing is ever truly hopeless. Alright. We have a deal. You will wake up in a hospital bed in ten seconds. Your friend John Watson has rescued you in the last moment. You'll feel a bit shaken but will recover very quickly, and tomorrow you'll start your mission: _make Mycroft happy_.”

And in six days he would be dead once more…

***** 

Sherlock gasped when he found himself exactly where God had told him, without any time passing or so it seemed. He was lying in a hospital bed in a bright, clean, friendly room where the sun was shining through the window. The expression on John Watson's face was not quite as friendly. He looked surprised, a tad shocked and totally pissed off.

“Sherlock! Fuck! They said it would probably take you at least a day to wake up!”

Sherlock gave him a small smile. “Hi John. As you can see - totally awake.”

The doctor stepped closer. His blond hair was ruffled, his eyes swollen and his jacket and shirt looked as if he had slaughtered someone; his swollen knuckles indicating that he had in fact beaten somebody up. “Why the fuck did you do that?! Greg and I warned you! But no – Sherlock Holmes doesn't listen to imbecilic people! He just stumbles into danger like there's nothing to fear! You have any idea how close to dying you've been?!”

Sherlock did in fact. But he couldn't say it, could he? He simply couldn’t tell John what just had happened. He would just think he had fantasised or dreamt in his drug sleep or had gone totally insane.

But what if he had? What if this had been only happening in his mind?

“Look at you!” John continued, his face only about three inches apart from Sherlock's. “You look… totally… good!”

“And you just noticed that?” Sherlock shot back in an attempt to bring in a lighter note, trying to sound as if everything was fine. His voice sounded raspy though and it was trembling.

John snorted. “Smartarse! You know how we've worried about you? They said you could even have a brain-damage!”

“I can assure you I do not. What happened to your clothing and your fist?” he asked to change the subject.

John looked down on himself as if he was seeing the mess for the first time. Then he shrugged. “Went in there to save you. Bashed some bad people up…”

“Wow… Sweetie? And CC?”

“And another bodyguard. All hospitalised, but don't worry – not here. Sherlock, you can't do such things! If I had come just a little bit later… I don't even want to think about it…”

He bit his lip, looking terrified all at once, and Sherlock felt genuinely guilty. Yes, it had not been a good idea… He would not do it again. He would go home the next day and try to behave more like an adult. Just like Mycroft had always wanted… Mycroft… No… He wouldn't have to do anything for Mycroft… It had all just been a dream!

The room was completely white the next second, John was gone, and the old man was floating in front of the bed. He shook his head in disapproval. “Sherlock, Sherlock… You are disappointing me.”

“Oh, fuck…” It had not been a dream, a fantasy or whatever… Except if he was fantasizing right now…!

God narrowed his eyes. At least he spared Sherlock changing his looks every two seconds this time. “Swearing doesn’t make it any better! You know – I'll always be watching you until you've completed your task.”

“But… How will you know when I did that?!” Did Mycroft have to say: _Oh Sherlock, you just made me so happy!_ Not that he would ever say it…

“Don't worry, son. I will know it. And then I'll give you a sign and you will know that you're going to get your second chance.”

As if… Sherlock sighed. “Alright… Is it forbidden to talk to anyone about it?”

“Oh, not at all! You could even tell your brother if you thought that will help as long as in the end he'll be truly happy!”

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “Tell him?! Are you mad? Sorry…”

God gave him an indulgent smile. “I know it's not easy to process it. But I have a lot of faith in you.”

“Do you?” Sherlock didn’t share his optimism.

“Yes, Sherlock, I do. But do me a favour and don't doubt again that this is really happening. Don't waste your time. Remember –five days! Good luck!”

“Oh, you're awake!”

Sherlock winced at the loud voice of DI Lestrade. All at once the room was as it had been before. John was standing at the same spot so not much time could have passed by. And John didn’t look as if he'd just seen God… “I am, yes… So you arrested CC and his gang?”

“Oh yes. Once they are able to walk again, they'll go straight to prison. You know you were crazy to go in there alone and I really hope you won't do something that silly again, but this evidence you mailed me before they got you was awesome.”

Sherlock had done no such thing. Heavenly interference to make it easier for him to concentrate on his way more difficult task? He winced again when his phone vibrated. With shivering fingers he took it from the nightstand next to him.

_Yes, indeed. They won't bother you again with it except for some formalities. X G_

No. God wasn't sending him texts now. There had to be limits for this.

_[I can also just talk to you. Might be better as I'm going to contact you very often until your task is done.]_

Sherlock groaned and rubbed his temples after letting the phone drop onto his stomach. John was sitting on his bed at once, taking his right arm into both hands.

“Are you okay? Shall I get your doctor?”

“No, I'm fine. Would you mind leaving now? I'm sure you both have plenty to do and I would like to… sleep a bit.”

“You want to _sleep_? Fuck, I should have known you are not really well. Of course we'll give you all the rest you need. And if you feel better tomorrow morning, I'll take you home, alright?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I'll need an official testimony from you though so we can put attempted homicide on the list,” Lestrade said.

“Tomorrow, okay? I'll come to the yard.”

“Not necessary, I'll drop by at Baker Street sometime during the day.”

“Not sure if I'll be there a lot. I… will need to see my brother.”

“Your brother?” John echoed.

“Yes, John. My brother. Mycroft.”

“But why?”

Good question. It wasn't as if the Holmes brothers had met for a friendly chit-chat very often since Sherrinford. In fact he hadn't seen Mycroft at all apart from the two meetings with their parents in his office and the prison. They hadn't even texted with each other. It was as if they both longed to forget this horrible day and the awkward situation with Sherlock being supposed to shoot Mycroft… and forget each other in the go…

How was he supposed to explain it? Just by saying _“See, John, I actually died of a drug overdose in CC's house and God agreed in letting me live if I manage to make my brother happy in five days”?_

_[Honesty is never wrong, Sherlock.]_

Sherlock fisted his sheets. “I, um, think I should be nicer to him. I mean… I could have died today and… he's my family, I mean, apart from my parents and Eurus and…” He broke off, looking down on his lap.

“Well, it's great of course. And now get some sleep. You look a bit disturbed. You're sure I shouldn't watch out for your doc so…”

“No. I'm fine. Just tired.”

“Alright.” John patted his shoulder. “I'll be back tomorrow morning. And you can text me anytime.”

“Yeah, me too,” Lestrade agreed. “Hope you'll be as good as new tomorrow.”

In fact Sherlock was as good as dead. How would he die after all?

_[Oh, don't worry. I'll give you three possibilities again.]_

“Great...”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, nothing. See you tomorrow then. And thank you.”

And finally, they left him alone.

Sherlock looked at his phone again. It was half past six. In five and a half hour his deadline would start running. And he didn’t have the slightest clue how to make it happen.

Make Mycroft happy! But how?

What exactly did he know about his older brother?

Sadly enough – as good as nothing.

Sherlock remembered a time when they _had_ been close – before Mycroft had moved out to go to uni. Sherlock had been ten and he had been hurt that Mycroft had left him behind like this. He had even cried when Mycroft had moved out and Mycroft had hugged him and told him that he would always be there for him.

Well, it hadn't quite worked like this. Sherlock had started to ignore him and had gotten lost in his experiments and later in the drugs.

But before, Sherlock had been crazy for his big brother. Mycroft had taught him so much and had never turned him away if he had wanted anything from him – his assistance in (at this time harmless) experiments, giving him a shoulder to snuggle to if his classmates had been nasty to him, and even sharing his bed with him when Sherlock had had a nightmare. Mycroft had been chubby and comforting and a really good big brother.

And then he had left and Sherlock had never really forgiven him for that. He had been alone with nobody to turn to and his nights had been cold and comfortless.

Step by step he had erased all those good memories with Mycroft, almost like he had erased the memories of Eurus and Victor, and then there had been the drugs and then the cases and John and little by little the close, affectionate Holmes brothers had become not quite enemies but two men who seemed to have nothing in common anymore.

So Sherlock had no idea how his brother was really like behind his mask of the _Iceman_ , the cold, calculating, manipulating politician who despised all people with lower intelligence, the _goldfishes_. Who had not seemed to be quite as tough in dealing with their sister…

But still that didn’t get him any closer to know what would make his brother happy. And Sherlock was sure he wasn't happy. But why not? And what would it take to make him happy?

Sherlock had no idea. But as it had to be him who had to make a real difference for the better for him, he would start with trying to make a connection with his brother. He knew he had to be nice to him and make him like Sherlock again.

Oh God… He was fucked.


	2. Tuesday

“I'm fine, John. I can get out on my own.” Sherlock looked pointedly at the hand that was wrapped around his arm when he left the cab.

“I don't know - you look healthy but… strange.” John didn’t let him go until Sherlock was standing on the pavement in front of 221B.

Who wouldn't look strange in his position? But since he couldn’t explain it to his flatmate, Sherlock didn’t say anything.

“Oh, looks as if you don't have to go anywhere to meet your brother.”

“What?!” Sherlock stared at John, knowing his eyes were expressing sheer panic.

John nodded towards the door. “The knocker – see!”

Yes. It was straightened. Damn! Sherlock was so not prepared to meet Mycroft now. He still didn’t have a plan!

_[Oh, what a nice coincidence! Don't fret and go ahead!]_

“What's wrong with you? You said you wanted to meet him anyway.”

Sherlock bit his lip. “Yes,” he grumbled then. “It's a nice coincidence.” He stalked towards the door, followed by John. He could have sworn he had just heard a quiet giggle in his head.

With a heart beating way too fast (well, at least it _was_ still beating… yet…) he entered the house. And froze. Mycroft was sitting on the stairs, just as he'd done after John had dragged Sherlock out of the drug den when he had been after Magnussen. And Sherlock remembered very well what he had done not long after – twisting his brother's arm and pushing him against the door… He blushed at the memory. He had been high but it had been a very nasty thing to do. And he had never even apologised for it…

_[Alright, Sherlock. The game is on.]_

Sherlock would have had a lot to say to this but he had to concentrate now.

He cleared his throat and curled his lips into a small smile when Mycroft was just opening his mouth. “Good morning, brother, how are you?” he said in a tone that was hopefully light and friendly while Mycroft said:

“God, Sherlock, must you always behave so irresponsibly?!”

Both men shut their mouths with an audible noise and Sherlock could feel his cheeks blush even more while Mycroft just stared at him, certainly not having expected to be greeted like this.

“Um, sorry,” he mumbled which made Mycroft's eyes grow even wider.

“Well. I hope you're doing well now,” Mycroft said in a way less aggressive but the more confused tone.

Sherlock felt hope arising in his heart. Could it be so easy?

“Still it was a _stupid_ thing to do, going in there all alone,” Mycroft continued, and his shoulders slumped down again. As if…

_[Perhaps tea might help?]_

_Fuck, yes!_ “Good idea!”

“Sorry what? You think that was a _good idea_?!” Mycroft hissed.

“Well, let's get him into the flat before you start shouting at him, Mycroft,” John finally interfered and patted Sherlock's shoulder. “I'll make tea and…”

“No!” Sherlock burst out. “ _I_ want to make tea!”

He saw Mycroft and John exchange a look full of worry and cursed himself and God and Mycroft and John and just everybody. Then he climbed the stairs with heavy steps. He would make the fucking tea and be nice to his fucking brother and he would fucking make him fucking happy even if it was the last fucking thing he did!

_[Well, technically it…]_

“Oh, shut up!”

“Sherlock, are you really okay?” John and Mycroft asked him from behind in one voice.

“Yes! I'm totally fine! And now get your arses into the flat!” This was so not going to be fun. Perhaps he should just jump from St. Bart's again and get it over with…

*****

Sherlock almost dropped the tray when he brought it into the living room with shivering hands, looking into the cautious eyes of both his flatmate and his brother.

He put it onto the table, trying to control himself. “Where is Rosie?” he asked John – a comfortable subject except if John had forgotten her somewhere or she had been kidnapped from the flat in his absence…

“Molly took her yesterday. It's her day off today so Rosie will stay with her. I didn’t know how you'd be feeling so I thought it was a good idea.”

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock caught his brother's gaze. He looked… strange… Sherlock couldn’t identify it. There might have been a hint of sadness. Or something else? He had never been able to deduce Mycroft which sort of proved that Mycroft was indeed the smart one, as little as Sherlock liked to admit it (and of course he'd never tell Mycroft…).

“Um, shall I take care of that?” John pointed at the mugs.

“Oh, no, I'll do it.” He poured a cup for John, no sugar, no cream, and handed it to him. And then he froze. He had no idea how Mycroft took his tea.

_[Two sugars, a tiny bit of cream.]_

Sherlock almost thanked God for this (hopefully correct) bit of information but he shut his mouth before he could say it out loud. It was pointless anyway as God was obviously very capable of reading his mind. Instead he prepared the tea in this way and handed the cup on the saucer to his brother as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Instead of taking it, Mycroft stared at him as if he had grown four additional noses.

Sherlock gave him a smile. “Anything wrong?”

“No,” Mycroft breathed and took the items from Sherlock's hands. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, brother mine.” Sherlock poured his own tea and sat down on the couch next to John. He could literally feel John's stare on him. “So… Anything interesting happening in the government?”

“Um… Well, no but... Sherlock, I'm here because you can't go on like this! Jumping into every danger!” His outburst looked a tad silly given the fact he was holding a cup in one hand and the saucer in the other one.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I'm a grown-up man; I know what I'm doing!” Oh oh… that hadn't been good…

“Oh really? If John hadn't shown up in the very last second and given you a heart-massage, you would be dead now!”

Sherlock had not seen any bruises on his chest when he had washed himself in the morning and in fact nothing had hurt.

_[Ah, included in the service. I also let a few scars disappear.]_

Sherlock turned to John. “You didn’t tell me!”

John shrugged. “Was no big deal…”

“No big deal?” Mycroft almost smashed his cup on the saucer. “Sherlock, you are too old for this kind of nonsense! Leave that to the police! It's not your job!”

“And it's not _your_ job to tell me what to do! You're my brother, not my father!”

“Thank God Father and Mummy don't know half of the crazy stuff you do!”

“Oh, shut up, Mycroft!”

Sherlock's heart missed a beat when he saw the expression in Mycroft's eyes before his brother was able to get his shields in place again. This time it was clear what he was feeling: hurt, disappointment and resignation. Then Mycroft stood up. “Thanks for the tea,” he said in a stiff, toneless voice and stalked out of the room. A few seconds later Sherlock heard the door open and shut.

_[Now that was a little bit not good, don't you think?]_

Sherlock buried his face in his hands.

The next moment he felt John stroking his back. “Sherlock, what… is this all about? Why were you so nice to Mycroft? Not that you just were but…”

“I told you,” Sherlock mumbled into his palms.

“Yes, but that didn’t really convince me. There must be more to this.”

“Can't tell you.” Sherlock stood up. “I need to think. Please don't disturb me for a few hours.”

“But…” Then John nodded. “Alright. But if you're up to it, just tell me what is going on. Perhaps I can help you! Oh… no!”

“What?” John couldn’t have figured it out, could he?

“In the hospital… They didn't find a deadly disease when they checked you, did they?”

Sherlock could hardly suppress a hysterical giggle. Sort of! Not the doctors but… “No, John. Nothing like that. I'm fine.” At least for five more days… He had to do better than he'd just had; so much was sure.

When he was alone in his bedroom, spread out on his bed, he started to think it through. He needed a plan and he needed it quickly.

“You don't care to just tell me what would make him happy, do you?” he asked quietly. He knew he could have just thought it but somehow he preferred a real conversation with the voice in his head.

_[Oh, no – where would be the sport in that?]_

“But you know it.”

_[Of course I do. I know everything about everybody.]_

Sherlock didn’t ask how this was even possible. He didn’t have any doubt that it was. “Not even the slightest hint? I don't know him, you know? He's my brother but… I have no idea how he really is.”

_[I am aware of that. But trust me – you can find it out. Just be a tad kinder to him than you just were.]_

As if this was so easy… Mycroft had driven him mental for decades now, and vice versa… “Just out of curiosity – whom would you have picked if I had chosen a female friend?”

_[Molly Hooper of course.]_

Oh, in this case, Sherlock could be happy that he had picked a male. It would have been a lot easier with Molly on one hand as Sherlock knew very well what would make her happy. But on the other hand, he would be as good as dead then, too, because he would never be able to give her what she wanted. He was not only a virgin – he had no interest whatsoever in touching, kissing, let alone having sex with anyone. And even if that ever changed – it would be a man, not a woman. Sherlock had always known he was gay, being attracted to only male bodies. But he had never been attracted to an actual person. It seemed that he was missing something beyond his incompetence in emotionally understanding people. He didn’t find human bodies appalling (at least not the bodies of good-looking men) but he didn’t feel the urge to exchange bodily fluids with them… In any way he would have never been able to do anything with Molly. He shuddered at the image.

So Mycroft had been the better choice in the end. He was his brother, not anyone who could be interested in him as a man. And they had been close after all, no matter how long these times were gone. Sherlock just had to find the key to Mycroft's soul and then it would happen by itself. _Just_ …

_[Just so, Sherlock. You have almost five days left to find this key.]_

“Do you already know if I will find it or not?”

_[Yes.]_

“But you won't tell me.”

This time the chuckle was unmistakable…

Sherlock sighed and then he started to think.

*****

Sherlock stood before the cabinet building for ten full minutes, trying to slow down the racing of his heart and reach a state where he could act calmly and friendly towards his brother, no matter what Mycroft might throw at him.

He knew he had totally fucked it up in the morning and he just couldn’t do it again. His life literally depended on being able to first of all convince his brother that he came as a friend for a change… But why should Mycroft believe that? He couldn’t even lie to him and say it was because of Sherrinford or because he suddenly cared for him after his new near-death-experience because Mycroft could deduce him in opposite to Sherlock…

_[Now, now, Sherlock. You don't care for your only brother? Not a tiny little bit?]_

Sherlock sighed. Of course he did. In a way. In a distant, estranged, strange way. They had been close once, yes, but this closeness could never return as they were not children anymore and so much had happened between them. If he just thought of what he had done to his brother…

He had always known that Mycroft only wanted his best. In his annoying, overprotective manner he had always cared for Sherlock. And Sherlock had always pushed him away, acting like a resentful child. Why had he? And still did… He didn’t really know it. It didn’t make any sense, especially not after Sherrinford.

_[Well, if this insight is not a great foundation for a new start then what is?]_

“He will never believe me. He won't… _buy_ a different kind of behaviour from me,” Sherlock mumbled. At least there was nobody around who could watch him talking to himself… or better _God_ …

_[But you don't want to **sell** him anything. You just realised you should change your way of reacting to him. That's genuine, no matter that you would have possibly not done it without a little interference.]_

“You mean a death-sentence?”

_[If you want to put it that dramatically. Now go in and be a nice younger brother. It's easy. Millions of people are doing that every day – being kind and benevolent to their siblings…]_

“I'm not…”

_[…like other people, I know. Just do it anyway. And you don't come with empty hands which is so **sweet** of you!]_

“You will always have the last word, won't you?” _You mocking son of a…_

Another chuckle was the only answer. Sherlock sighed and then finally walked into the building.

As the guards knew him, he was just waved through. He caught some curious looks but nobody said anything to him except for some more or less friendly _hellos_.

To reach Mycroft's office he had to cross Anthea's.

“Hello. Is my brother there?” he asked his brother's PA who was typing on her computer keyboard. Her desk was neat and nothing was lying around except for her ever-present phone

She stared at him and wrinkled her eyebrows. “He didn’t tell me he sent for you.”

“Because he didn’t. So?”

“Yes, he is there. And what's that?” She pointed at the package in Sherlock's hand.

“Not a bomb I can assure you. May I…?” He knew she didn’t like him. Well, he couldn’t blame her. He had brought his brother, whom she apparently adored and admired, on the verge of a stroke pretty often over the years…

She nodded. “But…”

“I'll be totally nice to him,” he promised and wasn't surprised to be rewarded by a look full of doubt. He gave her a short smile and then he knocked at his brother's office door.

“Yes?” he heard from inside.

He didn't say anything but opened the door. “Hello Mycroft. Beautiful day, isn't it?”

“She… Sherlock? What do you want?”

“Oh, can't I just drop by to visit my dear brother on this… beautiful day?”

“Well… but… yes… do come in.”

Sherlock thought that this was a rather promising start. “So… How's your day?”

“Um, fine. Busy. But… have a seat.”

Mycroft's desk was covered with yellow and red folders, and a few half-filled mugs with tea and coffee were standing around. Anthea seemed to be rather useless as a secretary… But perhaps she had other treats? Could that be? His brother and… No. Mycroft was gay as Sherlock was sure. Not that his brother was supposed to have a vivid sex life. But who knew? Sherlock for sure didn’t. He had never seen traces of it on Mycroft though. But with this clothing (or rather armour) marks would be easy to hide…

“What's that?” Mycroft looked at the package that Sherlock had just placed right onto a pile of folders.

“Something tasty for you.”

“You're not dying, are you?”

Sherlock winced. Not that again… Yes, he would be dying if he failed. Perhaps… if he told Mycroft… Sherlock couldn’t deduce him so why should God be able to?

_[Nice try, Sherlock. Won't work. Go on.]_

He sighed but then he plastered a smile onto his face. “No, Mycroft. It's just a little gift from me for you.”

“But why?” Mycroft's gaze bored into his and Sherlock suddenly felt like a little bird in front of an ill-tempered cat.

“Would you just have a look?”

“Alright…” Mycroft opened the box and froze. “Very funny…” he hissed then.

“But… It's a cake! From the best bakery in London!” Dark chocolate with cherries! Everybody liked that!

“And if I accept it, you're going to make some nasty weight-jokes!”

“No! Why should I? You are slim!”

He was, Sherlock only now realised. Mycroft had struggled with his weight for decades but for quite some time he had looked almost as lean as Sherlock. His tight suits wouldn’t hide any spare tyre. His brother was a very tall man and a slim and sort of handsome one, Sherlock had to admit.

Mycroft was still staring at him inquiringly. Then he seemed to be content that Sherlock wasn't lying. “Sorry,” he said. “And thank you then.”

“Care to share it with me?”

“What, now?”

Sherlock took the opportunity at once. “Oh, no. When you've finished working. We could have dinner together somewhere and then go to your place and eat the cake.”

_[Good! I'm proud of you!]_

“Well… _Really_?”

Sherlock smiled. “Yes, really.” And somehow he meant it.

He had mused now for many hours in which way he could make his brother happy. He didn’t have a clue but he deduced that God thought that it had to be something he could do to his brother. The time was too short to have someone else involved. He couldn't play matchmaker for him and get him a boyfriend. It wouldn’t work; even Sherlock knew that. To be completely sure he had asked John at the breakfast table how long it took someone to fall in love and be happy, just _“for scientific reasons”_.

John had seemed to want to say something but then he had just thought about it. _“For normal people? Months at best.”_

And for someone like Mycroft who thought all other people were goldfishes? Probably forever… Sherlock didn’t have much time so this wasn't an option even if it had _only_ been months... So all he could do was trying to reach his aim by making Mycroft happy himself, however this should work.

He didn’t know much about him but he knew Mycroft liked good food. So he had guessed that would probably be a good start. He could only hope they wouldn’t get in a row again…

_[Well, then just be nice to him!]_

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Um, I'll let Anthea make a reservation.”

“Oh, I'll do that. Just tell me where you would like to go.”

“Oh, I'll go where you want to.”

“Um, do you like Italian food?”

“Sure.”

“ _Angelo's_ then?” Better to be in a familiar environment.

“Yes, why not. Seven-thirty?”

“Seven-thirty is it then.” Sherlock got up. “See you then! Or… do you have a case you need help on?”

Mycroft stared at him again. “You're sure you're okay?”

_[He is a tough nut to crack; I give you that.]_

_Do I get more time?_

_[No.]_

_Thanks…_

He concentrated on his brother again. “I'm fine. I just would like to… you know… have a better relationship with you.” He could feel his cheeks flush.

_[Oh, wonderful! You are getting somewhere!]_

Mycroft blushed, too. “That's… I don't know what to say. But… that would be… good.”

“Great! Seven-thirty! Have a nice day until then!”

“You too, Sherlock. And thank you.”

Sherlock smiled. “No, thank _you_!”

*****

Sherlock sneaked into the little restaurant five minutes before the time they had agreed on. He had spent some hours at the Yard, talking about his time at CC's house to Lestrade and Donovan. After that he had glanced over a few cold cases for DI Dimmock and then he had headed home to get ready for his appointment with his brother.

Angelo, dressed in black with an apron around his waist, beamed at him. "Sherlock! Oh, you look dapper!"

He had indeed made some effort with his looks. He wasn't sure why but he had thought that Mycroft might appreciate it if he looked a bit _grown-up_ for a change. So he had had a long overdue haircut and was wearing his only tie. It was light-grey which fit pretty well with his new purple shirt, and the black suit was almost new as well.

"Thank you. Where will we sit?"

"Oh, right here in the corner! A little intimate." Angelo lit a candle while Sherlock was hanging up his Belstaff.

Sherlock grimaced. "But this isn't a date, you know. He's my brother!"

"Of course he is!"

Sherlock glared at him. "No, really! He..."

"Hello, Sherlock."

He whirled around and looked at a flushed Mycroft, who had had a haircut as well (not that it had really been necessary in his case) and had changed clothes. His grey three-piece-suit looked as if he'd just bought it, perfectly fitting. Probably he had... But why?

"Oh, hello! Sit down, sir! It's all on the house! Sherlock's friends are my friends!" Angelo winked at Mycroft who blushed even more.

"He is..."

_[Just let it lie. Let him believe what he wants. Don't spoil the atmosphere!]_

_Which atmosphere?! Mycroft is not my **date**!_

_[Would you like to fall off a bridge in five days? Or rather die in a warehouse-fire?]_

Sherlock paled. Then he cleared his throat. "Do sit down, brother. Give me your coat." Mycroft had come without his umbrella for a change.

He helped a stunned Mycroft out of his expensive, soft coat and hung it up. Then he joined his brother at the table. It looked disturbingly romantic with the flickering candle-light but Sherlock chose to ignore it.

“Um, would you like some wine?” he suggested.

Mycroft grabbed for the menu that Angelo had left on the table. “Yes. You, too?”

Sherlock nodded. “Choose one for us, would you?”

A shy smile was his reward. “That I can do.”

Sherlock didn’t know shit about wine and he knew his brother would pick something nice. If there was anything to his liking at all. He almost expected a nasty remark about the choice but there was none. In fact Mycroft seemed to be satisfied with a certain red wine of which Sherlock forgot the name at once.

They also ordered their meals ( _Pasta Prosciutto_ for Sherlock and _Spaghetti Vongole_ for Mycroft). Angelo provided them with some tasty smelling bread and then the brothers were alone.

Sherlock had no idea how to start the conversation.

_[He's your brother. Surely you have some nice memories to share?]_

Would that be a good idea? Wouldn't it lead to discussing the Eurus-matter once more? Sherlock took a deep breath to ask how Mycroft's day had been when a song started to play pretty loudly. Elvis Presley without a doubt…

 

_Are you lonesome tonight,_

_Do you miss me tonight?_

_Are you sorry we drifted apart?_

_Does your memory stray to a brighter sunny day_

_When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?_

_Do the chairs in your parlour seem empty and bare?_

_Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?_

 

 _Great…_ “Um, Angelo, could you turn that off? Or make it a bit quieter?” Sherlock shouted in the direction of the kitchen and then turned to Mycroft who had a wry smile on his lips.

 

_Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?_

_Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?_

 “Angelo?!”

“Sorry! It doesn't work!” came back. “I didn’t turn that on!”

“Well, who…” _Oh, fuck…_

_[What? It's a great song from the best singer there ever was!]_

_Yes, but it's a bloody love song!_

_[Well, this is about love, isn’t it? Your love for life?]_

_Very funny!_

Angelo brought the wine and Sherlock saw to his surprise that his brother had blushed severely. Why would a stupid song embarrass him like this? It wasn’t as if Sherlock had asked for it being played!

The music got even louder when the late Elvis started to speak instead of singing.

 

_I wonder if you're lonesome tonight_

_You know someone said that the world's a stage_

_And each must play a part._

_Fate had me playing in love you as my sweetheart._

_Act one was when we met,_

_I loved you at first glance_

_You read your line so cleverly and never missed a cue_

_Then came act two, you seemed to change and you acted strange_

_And why I'll never know._

_Honey, you lied when you said you loved me_

_And I had no cause to doubt you._

_But I'd rather go on hearing your lies_

_Than go on living without you._

_Now the stage is bare and I'm standing there_

_With emptiness all around_

_And if you won't come back to me_

_Then make them bring the curtain down._

_Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?_

_Tell me_ _dear, are you lonesome tonight?_

The music ended abruptly and the silence was even worse.

They avoided each other's looks, both staring at their glasses. Sherlock had the strange feeling that this dinner had not been such a good idea. Mycroft didn’t look in the least happy to be trapped in this restaurant with him, with an innkeeper who definitely thought Mycroft was Sherlock's date, just as he'd done with John so many years ago.

“Um, your day was okay?” Sherlock finally broke the silence.

“Oh, yes. Thanks. The PM, you know… Had some strange ideas…”

Sherlock nodded. “I see. Must be a pain in the… sometimes…”

“I guess so, yes.”

Both cringed when Elvis started to sing again.

 

_You know I can be found,_

_Sitting home all alone,_

_I_ _f you can't come around,_

_At least please telephone._

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

_Baby, if I made you mad_

_For something I might have said,_

_Please, let's forget the past,_

_The future looks bright ahead,_

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

_I_ _don't want no other love,_

_Baby it's just you I'm thinking of._

Sherlock was close to standing up and running away. Why did God do that?! He didn’t _want_ Sherlock to survive, did he?!

 

_Don't stop thinking of me,_

_Don't make me feel this way,_

_Come on over here and love me,_

_You know what I want you to say._

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

_Why should we be apart?_

_I really love you baby, cross my heart._

“How about you?” Mycroft asked through gritted teeth, obviously trying to ignore the music.

“It was fine,” Sherlock said, fisting the table cloth.

“Ah, sorry, I really don't know what's wrong with the radio,” Angelo said in this moment, bringing their meals. “I'll have a look again.”

“Don't bother,” Sherlock mumbled. He started to eat and saw Mycroft do the same.

Elvis was going on singing in the meantime.

 

_Let's walk up to the preacher_

_And let us say I do,_

_Then you'll know you'll have me,_

_And I'll know that I'll have you,_

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

_I don't want no other love,_

_Baby it's just you I'm thinking of._

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

_I don't want no other love,_

_Baby it's just you I'm thinking of._

 

Mycroft's cheeks were so red that he looked as if he had a bad fever. Could it be from the candle light? He probably wasn't used to eating with a little fire in his face…

“Have you talked to Mummy lately?” Sherlock made another attempt at a conversation when he had shovelled the noodles into his mouth without really tasting anything.

“Oh, yes, a couple of days ago. They're doing well.”

“That's good.”

Another uncomfortable silence followed. Then Sherlock asked: “Will you join them and me in Sherrinford again?”

He winced as he saw the sad look in Mycroft's face. “I don't think so.”

“Why not? You don't want me to go there?” It was a bit strange indeed… In fact Eurus had wanted him to shoot Mycroft…

Mycroft gave him a wry smile. “Would that keep you from doing it?”

“Yes.” If it could save his fucking life, he would never go there again. Would that make Mycroft happy?

Mycroft seemed to be surprised. But then he sighed. “No, you don't have to let it be. I don't know what it gives you but… I just don't want to be confronted with my failure over and over again. And I doubt that she would want to see me.”

Was that the key? Get the entire family back together, make Mycroft and Eurus get along?

_[You asked for a hint… No.]_

Could he trust God? He had played this nasty game with the music after all!

_[I'm hurt! If you can't trust God, then whom do you want to trust?]_

_But why did you do that then?!_

_[Because Elvis is a great singer and a really nice guy?]_

_So he's up there?_

_[Of course he is. He says hi!]_

Sherlock couldn’t suppress a grin. Could his life get any crazier? Discussing Elvis with God and get greeted by him?

Mycroft stared at him. He had finished eating now, too, and had just used his tissue thoroughly. “What's so funny about that?”

His grin died at once. “Oh, nothing. And I don't know what Eurus wants. She doesn't talk to me, either. But I like to play the violin with her. It… I don't know… She's part of a past I've forgotten for so long. I… just want to make a connection.”

He winced once more at the sadness in Mycroft's eyes. It was so unusual that he could read him at all. Normally Mycroft's eyes were indifferent if not cold as ice.

“I see,” the politician said quietly. “Well, I hope you'll succeed in the end at making a connection with one of your siblings.”

Sherlock gasped. This was not good! “Well, I thought I could do the same with you. And you are not even locked away!”

_[Good! A bit of humour might brighten up the atmosphere!]_

Mycroft looked at him for a very long time. Then he nodded. “That would be very nice, Sherlock. I appreciate it.” But he didn’t sound happy when he said it. He didn’t sound happy at all.

Sherlock could have smashed his fist onto the table. What was he missing? Why was it so difficult?!

He waited for a comment but there was none.

_Oh, please – don't be **too** helpful!_

_[Sarcasm is not a treat, Sherlock.]_

He tried to concentrate on the situation in the here and now but before he could say anything, Mycroft's phone vibrated. He mumbled an excuse and took it out to look at the display. Then he sighed.

“Need to go,” Sherlock concluded.

“Yes. Sorry, a little emergency.”

“No cake for me then?”

Mycroft looked guilty, but the worst part was that he also looked relieved to have an excuse to flee from the situation. If this had been a real cry for help at all… Perhaps just an information from his telecommunication provider… Anything to escape Sherlock…

“Not today. Sorry. But we'll do that another time, I promise. I'll pay then.” He turned around, looking for Angelo.

“No worries. Angelo doesn't take money from me or my dates,” Sherlock mumbled, feeling utterly resigned and beaten.

_And I'm sure Mrs Hudson will provide everybody with some nice cake at my funeral party then…_

Mycroft apologised again and then he was gone.

Sherlock stayed seated, staring into nothingness. He didn’t have a clue. He had simply no idea how to overcome their estrangement and reconcile with Mycroft. If that would make his brother happy at all…

_[You must go on trying. It couldn't work on the first day.]_

“Oh, shut up. You and your bloody music.”

_[Oh, please. Do you really think your forced attempts at making small talk were any better? Did that help?]_

_No_ , Sherlock had to agree. But still…

_[Everybody loves the music of Elvis. Even your brother. He listened to it a lot when he was young.]_

_But that was ages ago! He's totally changed. And he didn’t like it!_

This time God didn't chuckle. He sighed…

“Oh, Sherlock! Your date has already left?”

“Yes, Angelo. And he… never mind…”

Angelo started collecting the plates. “He likes you very much,” he assured him.

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “Yes, sort of. The care for the black sheep of the family. Oh, wait… Not anymore…” Certainly Eurus had long surpassed him…

“So he's really your brother?” Angelo seemed to be unable to believe it.

“Yes! He's seven years older than me. I know we don't really look alike but he _is_ my brother.”

“Strange. I could have sworn he's totally fallen for you. Well… I see romance everywhere…”

“How's Elisabetta?” Sherlock was proud that he recalled the name of Angelo's wife.

Angelo beamed at him. “Great! We'll have another little boy in three months!”

“Wow… That makes how many? Four?”

“Five! What about you? You never thought of having children?”

Sherlock shuddered. “Of course not. I don't… have any interest in… you know… sex.”

“Ah, you don't know what you're missing out on.” Angelo sat down on the chair Mycroft had occupied before. “And I don't just mean the sex and even children. Being close to someone. Kiss and cuddle and share your feelings with them. There's nothing more important in this world than love.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Even if that was true for me as well – I would never find someone who could be this for me.” The thought alone… He couldn’t be with anyone less smart than he was. And well… That meant there was nobody for him…

He got up. “I better go home. You're sure you don't want money?”

“I am, Sherlock! You know how much I owe you!”

Would Angelo mourn him when he was gone? Because somehow Sherlock had no doubt that in five days, he would be in this tunnel again and this time he wouldn’t come back.

_[Oh, Sherlock. Don't give up! I believe in you.]_

Sherlock didn’t. But damn… he would try until the end. He just needed to find out more about Mycroft so he had a chance to find this one thing that would make him happy!

_[That's my boy! Perhaps you should talk to some people who know your brother.]_

Well, this would be a very short list.

_[At least know him a tad more than you.]_

God had a point. As always…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs, sung by the wonderful Elvis Presley: "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" copyright Lou Handman and Roy Turk and  
> "Don't Be Cruel" copyright Otis Blackwell


	3. Wednesday

“Hello, Anthea!”

“Oh, Sherlock.” An unspoken _What do **you** want again?_ was hanging over her. “I'm afraid your brother isn't here at the moment. He is having lunch with the Prime Minister and Lady Smallwood.”

 _And certainly having a marvellous time… not…_ “Well, that's a shame.” Sherlock looked at the package in his hands, wrapped as the gift it was. “But… can I talk to you for a moment then? And leave this for him?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Sure. Take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Sherlock smiled at her, relieved that she offered him a truce. “No, thank you. Um… can I ask you something? Something that has to stay between the two of us?” He really didn’t want Mycroft to know he had chatted with his PA about him. If said PA would be amenable to do it at all.

She eyed him closely and Sherlock lowered his shields, showing her his desperation to some extent. “Yes, sure,” she finally said. “It's about your brother?”

“Yes. I… try to have a better relationship with him. We met for dinner yesterday but then he was called off.”

“And today he's in a bad mood,” she mumbled and Sherlock winced. That was the very last thing he wanted to hear.

“It's not easy,” he said. “The things between us. You know what I'm talking about.”

“Oh yes. I could make a long list of occasions when you upset him.” She leaned forward on her desk. “And I will never forget the day when he came in the office with a twisted arm thanks to you!”

Sherlock paled, feeling guilty to the core. But then he shook it off. “I know. It was unforgivable.” Not that he had ever even _asked_ for Mycroft's forgiveness… “But I want things to change now. I… want to see my brother happy.” There, he had said it.

“Happy?” she asked in a tone full of disbelief.

“Yes, happy! That's when the corners of your mouth go that way!” Sherlock pulled his own ones up.

To his surprise, she giggled. “Sorry, but that sounded so… strange, coming from you. You never gave a shit if he was happy!”

“I know, but now I do!”

_[Out of totally selfless reasons I'm sure…]_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. And wasn't it true a bit? It wasn’t as if he _hated_ Mycroft… He had never done it. Their relationship had just been… complicated…

_[Nicely put.]_

_Thanks._

_[That was irony.]_

_I know._

Anthea had watched him, her face a mask of confusion. Probably his inner dialogues with God's voice were visible on his face… Great… How long until they would lock him away like Eurus?

_[Don't worry. If things with your brother go on like this, that's the last thing you have to worry about.]_

_Charming…_

_[Just a little reminder to do better!]_

“But I'm trying!” Sherlock burst out loud.

Anthea pulled back, looking a little frightened.

“Sorry. I just mean – I'm really trying to make things better between Mycroft and me. But I need some help.”

She nodded, finally seeming to accept how serious he was. “Well, I wish I could tell you a lot, Sherlock. But your brother doesn't really confide in me in any personal way. I can sense when he is really unhappy, usually after meeting you, but even this aside, he never really laughs or behaves as if something was pleasant for him. He does his job. That's his life. This and caring about you.”

Sherlock was devastated once more. He slumped down in his chair. He was doomed.

“But… He does have a secret I found out by accident.”

Sherlock stared at her. What would come now? Mycroft liked to get whipped? Spent his nights dressed up like a baby? Was addicted to get tattooed? Fancied cross-dressing like Uncle Rudy? What?

“He frequently goes to an animal shelter, probably mostly at the weekends. I overheard a conversation when he had apparently forgotten his umbrella there.”

Sherlock was amazed. Mycroft liked animals? Liked to spend his spare time with those without a home? Getting caught up there so much that he forgot to take his precious umbrella with him? “Do you know which one?”

“No. And I really would refrain from getting him a dog because he spoke about having taken one for a walk. He doesn’t have time for pets; that's probably why he goes there instead of adopting one.”

Sherlock was excited nonetheless. A cute, little puppy. This could be the way into Mycroft's heart! How that had sounded now…

_[That sounds promising.]_

_Which shelter is it?_

_[How would I know?]_

_Please!_

_[You need to find it out yourself, Sherlock. Your brother isn't at home during the day, is he?]_

_You want me to break into his house?! What sort of a God are you?!_

_[You have a key. And you know his alarm code.]_

_He hasn’t changed it since… the clown?_ Yet another thing Sherlock had never said sorry for…

_[No, he hasn't. Or perhaps he did and it was just reset.]_

_Fuck! Sorry. Thanks!_

God was not such a bad accomplice in the end…

_[De nada.]_

He beamed at Anthea who was looking at him with some worry again. “Anything else? Does he… like to dance maybe or… I don't know. Anything?”

She shrugged. “I really don't know much about his… _soul_ if you want to put it like this.”

“What about Lady Smallwood?”

Anthea narrowed her eyes. “What about th… her?” She had obviously been about to say something else, like _the_ _old bitch_ maybe…

“He doesn't like her?”

Mycroft's PM snorted. “Dream on! She keeps hitting on him, as if…”

“Are you jealous?” Sherlock dared ask.

She flashed her eyes at him. “No! I'm a Lesbian if you need to know! And he is gay in case you don't know _that_!”

Sherlock lifted his hands. “No need to snap at me. I know he is. I just thought… I don't know…”

“Even if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“Because she's an old, ugly hag?”

Anthea giggled again. “I never said that!”

Sherlock smiled. “That's why _I_ did it.” Then he grew serious again. “So there's nobody in his life? Or his bed…?”

“Well, I don't live with him! But no. I'm sure there isn't anybody. Sometimes though he looks as if he… you know…”

Sherlock blushed. So Mycroft did have sex at least from time to time. Sherlock couldn’t imagine him doing it. Not in the least.

It had to show because Anthea narrowed her eyes once more. “He's not ugly, you know!”

“Of course not.” How could Mycroft be ugly? In the end he was _Sherlock's_ brother!

“A lot of people would love to get to know him.”

Sherlock sighed internally. Oh yes. Like him for example…

_[They might not all have such selfish reasons!]_

_Then why can't one of **them** make him happy?!_

_[Because none of them wants to save his arse with it!]_

_You swore!!!_

_[I'm God. I can do what I want.]_

Sherlock couldn’t suppress a grin.

Anthea glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Damn, he had to watch his facial expressions better! “So… He doesn’t react to this then? People making a move on him? But still he does have sex sometimes?” Somehow he didn’t like the thought. Because Mycroft should be above such desires?

_[Yes, Sherlock, why? Don't want to think of your dignified older brother, sweaty and worked up and being topped by some muscular hunk with a huge dick, who makes him pant and scream in ecstasy and spill his seed all over his bed?]_

Sherlock choked at his spit and coughed.

_What the fuck? Hello? God???_

He was still panting himself when he heard the voice chuckle once more.

Anthea looked at him with an open mouth. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine. So?”

She gave him another completely confused look. “Well… No, he ignores it. I think he does realise it though. But…” She seemed to think about something. “As you said this conversation should stay between the two of us…?”

“Oh, yes!” Sherlock leaned forward.

“I think he… pays for it.”

“What?!”

“Not on the street! He might use an escort service. I may have witnessed him making an appointment someday…”

Sherlock swallowed. He had not expected this. Mycroft was meeting… hookers? Men he paid for having sex with him? He bit his lip. This was… sad… His brother, the super-smart, handsome (yes, he did admit it), decent and really special (well, he was…) man had to pay for sex? Why?

_[Perhaps he just doesn’t want any real intimacy. Or he can't have whom he really wants?]_

Sherlock sighed.

_Who should that be?_

God stayed silent this time and he concentrated on Anthea again. “He doesn't know that you know about this?”

“Oh God, no. He would be mortified! And you are not going to tell him!” She glared at him.

“Of course not.” Sherlock got up. “I better go now. Will you give him the package?”

“What is it? And I know it's not a bomb!”

Sherlock smiled sadly. “It's a book. A signed first edition of _Treasure Island_.”

This was the outcome of his phone call to their mother the evening before. He had asked her carefully what she thought might make his brother happy. She had talked and talked but in the end Sherlock had only realised that she didn’t know Mycroft any better than he did. The grown man was a mystery to her. She had recalled that he had loved this book as a child and read it over and over again. So Sherlock had done an online search and found a seller on eBay who lived very close to Baker Street. He had bought the book and gone to fetch it in the morning. The man had even wrapped it into some nice paper for him. Sherlock was quite sure that there had been some heavenly assistance in this purchase… He just didn’t know if Mycroft was so keen on having this book now…

“Oh, that's… nice.” Anthea seemed to think the same.

“You think he'll hate it.”

“No! He'll be surprised but he will like it. You mean a lot to him, Sherlock.”

He sighed. “I know. And… I want to show him that I do care for him.”

And this was true. It was to save his arse, yes. But fuck, this was his brother! He had adored him as a child. Somewhere deep inside of him there had to be something left of that. Actually he was sure it was. He did remember Sherrinford… Mycroft's bravery… this moment of unspoken emotion between them… The thought made him feel strangely tense but God applauded him nonetheless.

_[Good. That's a really good start.]_

Sherlock agreed. “Well, I'll go then. Thank you for this chat and that you'll give him the book.”

“No problem. I hope you'll manage to convince him that you're not just a hopeless case.” She winked at him.

He gave her a wry smile. “I hope so, too.” _More than you'll ever know…_

*****

_“Just do it, Sherlock. We both know you want it…” Mycroft's face was a mask of hurt and resignation._

_Sherlock shook his head vehemently. “No.”_

_“You don't give a damn for me. Just shoot me.” Was he crying?_

_“No!”_

_“Yes, shoot him!”_

_“Shut up, Eurus.” Sherlock didn’t turn around to the screen._

_The light was flickering in the room. On the screens the faces of Eurus and Jim Moriarty were melting into each other._

_Something was missing. John… Where was John?_

_“If you don't kill him, I'll kill you!” his sister screamed._

_“No. I'll do that myself,” Sherlock said and raised the gun, pressing it under his chin._

_“No, Sherlock! You can't do that! I love you!”_

_Sherlock stared at his brother and then a man appeared in front of him. He was about twenty-five and extremely good-looking with blond hair and tanned skin, wearing a sleeveless shirt and very tight, light-blue jeans._

_He ignored Sherlock and walked over to Mycroft, slinging one arm around his neck. “Hello, handsome. You asked for me. I'll be so good to you! I'll eat your dick and lick your arse and then you can fuck me hard.”_

_Sherlock couldn’t believe the look on Mycroft's face. He was undressing the man with his eyes, his long-fingered hands sliding over the slim, muscular body. They even kissed, roughly and passionately. Then Mycroft turned to Sherlock, his gaze like stone. “Why are you still there? Shoot yourself already!”_

_“No, Mycroft, I don't want to die! You must save me!” Sherlock whimpered._

_“Save you?! Why? You always made me feel like shit! You deserve to die!”_

_Eurus laughed maniacally behind him and Sherlock felt dizzy and desperate. “No! Mycroft!”_

“Sherlock! Wake up. Can you hear me?”

“What?” Sherlock opened his eyes, feeling totally disoriented. He was sweating severely; his hair was sticking to his forehead and his shirt felt damp. He was lying on his couch in Baker Street; he wasn't in...

“Oh, fuck…” he mumbled and his right hand reached out for his brother's arm. Mycroft was kneeling in front of the couch, a worried expression on his face. “Why are you here? How did you get in?” As if this was important now…

Mycroft smiled wryly. “I have a key, Sherlock. I did use the doorbell but you didn’t open.”

So he had just come in? He couldn’t know that Sherlock was at home. Damn, of course he knew it… He was still under surveillance obviously…

“I'll bring you some water and perhaps you need a check-up again. You've just almost overdosed.” Mycroft was about to stand up, and Sherlock realised that he was still holding his arm in an iron grip. But somehow he couldn't let go.

“Please, stay.”

Mycroft looked alarmed now. “Sherlock, what's wrong? You had a nightmare… and you screamed my name.”

Only that it wasn't night. Sherlock could remember having slumped down on the couch after he had come home from the Cabinet Building. He must have slept for hours. Well, he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, worrying and thinking about a solution for his dilemma all the time. But still he'd had a very bad dream.

“Yes. I dreamt of Sherrinford… You said I should just die…”

And then Mycroft stood up and pressed his body next to him on the couch, urging him to make space for him so the detective sat up. “Sherlock. It's no wonder you have nightmares about it.” He slung one arm around Sherlock and it felt damn good. He laid his hand on Mycroft's thigh, somehow eager for more contact. It was almost like when he'd been a child. Mycroft had always comforted him after having a nightmare – at least until he had left him…

“Do you, too?” he asked him. This was the here and now.

His older brother was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he admitted then.

They had never talked about it. They had hardly seen each other since. Because Mycroft was still feeling guilty? It wasn’t as if Sherlock had ever searched for his company, but he only realised now that Mycroft had stopped doing it as well. And it made him sad.

“It wasn't your fault,” he said.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “Of course it was.”

“No. You trusted those people to do their jobs like you'd told them to do it. They didn’t listen to you and that's why she could do all this.”

“I should have controlled them better,” Mycroft replied stubbornly.

Sherlock knew he would never be able to talk him out of this so he changed the subject, eager to keep the conversation going, as nasty as the subject was. “What do you dream?”

Mycroft swallowed and didn’t answer.

Sherlock nodded. “That I shoot you. Of course you do. You know – I was never going to do that. I was… thinking how I could get us all out so I played along. There wasn’t much else I could do.”

“Oh, Sherlock… I don't dream about that. I dream that… you die…” His voice broke at the end of this sentence, and he looked shaken.

“Oh,” was all that Sherlock could say to this. He stared into Mycroft's eyes to find them pained and sad, his shields all open.

Then he closed them almost visibly. “I'll make tea now.” He gently let Sherlock go and stood up. “Do you have any clean plates?”

“For the tea?” Sherlock asked stupidly.

Mycroft smiled. “No. I came here with a piece of the cake you brought me. It's really delicious and since I couldn’t share it with you yesterday…”

“Oh!”

_[You can do better!]_

“That's very nice. Thank you!”

_[Fine!]_

The smile got deeper. “No problem. Be right back.”

Sherlock was all at once aware of his looks. He couldn’t sit there with his dapper, perfectly dressed brother, being all sweaty and probably stinking! He got up so fast that he got dizzy and hurried into the bathroom. He ripped off his shirt and washed himself quickly, dried his hair with a towel and combed it, and then he ran into his bedroom and pulled a shirt out of his wardrobe, not caring about the colour.

When he came back to the living room, Mycroft had made tea and put the cake onto two plates, one white, one red.

“I couldn’t find two matching ones,” he said apologetically. His eyes flickered over Sherlock, realising that he had refreshed himself.

“Oh, not a problem.” Sherlock sat down on the couch next to him.

“I won't be able to stay long though. I'll need to attend a meeting that will last three hours I guess.” Then he slightly shook his head as if he was thinking: _why would he care?_

“Um, then you'll have another long day,” Sherlock said.

“Yes. Well… it comes with the territory.”

“Power and glory?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and Sherlock cursed himself for having sounded mocking. He hadn't even meant it.

“I mean… you are a very important man so… Does that make you happy?” He shut his mouth with an audible noise. What sort of a stupid question had this been?

Mycroft looked confused but at least he didn’t seem to think that Sherlock was making fun of him. “Happy,” he mused, sounding as if he'd never used this word before. At least not for describing himself. “Well… It does have some benefits.”

“Like being able to drag your _loose-cannon_ -brother out of the mess he constantly brings himself into?”

Mycroft stared at him once more, and then he smiled and Sherlock's heart made a silly jump. He couldn’t remember having seen Mycroft smiling at him like this before. So… fondly… amused… full of care… lovingly… He must be crazy to see all of this in a smile that had lasted about three seconds…

“That's one of them, yes,” Mycroft said lightly. “Well, try the cake, would you?”

“Oh, sure.” Sherlock took a bite and rolled his eyes. “Tasty!” he mumbled with his mouth full.

Mycroft shook his head but he smiled when he did. “Sherlock… thanks so much for the book. That was a very nice surprise.” He sounded genuinely touched.

“I'm glad you like it. I… you know… You read it all the time as a child and… I thought you might like to have this edition.”

“Yes, that was very considerate of you.” Mycroft smiled again and Sherlock realised that his face changed completely when he smiled like this – without a hint of his usual sarcasm. It made him look a lot younger and softer. When he smiled, the Iceman was gone.

Very slowly some hope raised its head in Sherlock's heart. Perhaps it wasn't that impossible after all.

“Hello!”

Both brothers winced when John, Rosie and Mrs Hudson stumbled into the flat. The landlady was carrying a tray with cups and biscuits.

“Oh, you already had tea! And cake!”

Mycroft didn’t seem pleased at all. “Sorry, Mrs Hudson; I should have brought more.”

“Well, the cake was a gift for you,” Sherlock said.

Their eyes met and Mycroft blushed. He blushed! Then he nodded and stood up. “I better go now.”

“You don't have to,” Sherlock insisted. He caught John's gaze. His flatmate looked stunned and a tad confused.

“Of course you don't,” he said to Mycroft, surprising the brothers with it.

Mrs Hudson didn’t say anything but she was watching Sherlock closely.

Mycroft smiled cautiously. “Thank you, but I really need to leave. The meeting, you know.”

“Sure. Thank you for coming. See you soon?”

Mycroft swallowed. “Um, yes. Of course. Bye then.” And then he hurried to take his coat and his umbrella and left.

After a moment, John and Mrs Hudson went on with a conversation they had obviously started before coming in, but Sherlock didn’t listen. This had been promising, hadn't it? Too bad they had been disturbed.

_[Tomorrow you can see him again. But before, I'd suggest you go over to him like we discussed.]_

_Did we actually discuss anything?_

_[Oh yes. And now tell them you want to make an experiment and take your chance. Three more days, Sherlock.]_

He had almost forgotten about it and it was like a punch. He got up. “I need to go as well. An experiment is waiting for me. Bye.”

He didn’t wait for an answer but slipped into his coat and left the flat. Time to break into a house.

*****

Sherlock had been there before. Very rarely he had been here when Mycroft had asked him to come; mostly to talk about family matters or even a case Sherlock had generously agreed on helping him with. And of course to let in Wiggins' people for scaring the truth about Eurus out of Mycroft. It had been a nasty move and Sherlock knew it. He hadn't seen it this way when he and John had made the plan; he had been pissed off about Mycroft's dishonesty about their sister. But now that he had met her… In any way he knew that he had made Mycroft feel scared and bad and he regretted it now.

Perhaps he should write Mycroft a letter - apologising for everything he had done to him.

_[You know what? That's a pretty good idea.]_

“You think so?” He was alone in Mycroft's house so he could talk out loud. He just hoped Mycroft didn’t have any cameras in the house. He would be so fucked… Still standing in the hallway with the high ceilings, suits of armour and pretty scary paintings on the walls, he cautiously looked around. It had been very easy to enter the house. His key had fitted and the alarm code had indeed still been the same. But what if Mycroft had a silent alarm now…?

_[He doesn't and there are no cameras inside either. He'll never find out that you were here if you don't tell him. And yes… I think it is. It might be easier than saying these things. You can still do that when he contacts you after reading it.]_

Sherlock nodded. “I'll do it.” It would be an awful thing to do but it might clear the atmosphere. “Will you tell me if it's any good?”

_[Yes.]_

“Will you be honest?”

_[Yes!]_

Sherlock grinned. His conversation with his brother had made him feel a lot better. He was also glad Mycroft had not asked for details of his dream. It had been strange enough – confusing the horrors of Sherrinford with Anthea's information about his brother's supposed sex life. As if this was of any concern to him…

He shook his head over himself, and then he started his way of exploring Mycroft's personal realm.

*****

Ninety minutes later, he left the house. He was feeling strange.

Pictures were floating through his mind – of the things he had expected to find, like lots and lots of neat suits and shirts and vests in the wardrobe and books all over countless shelves.

And of some things he had not expected. A collection of sex toys and lube in the drawer next to Mycroft's generous bed; a modern piece of furniture in an old-fashioned house. Porn on his private laptop, also set in the bedroom (and it had somehow not been password-protected). Two dozen downloaded clips of mostly the same sort of pairing: a rather hirsute man with a hairless, younger man. Mycroft didn’t seem to have a real type otherwise; the men had been dark-haired and blond and even some red-heads had to be seen. Sherlock had glanced at most of the clips quickly, as if this could really tell him something about his brother's soul. It had been fascinating for him nonetheless, thinking that his brother, whom he had never pictured as a sexual man, would watch this and get off on it.

Eventually God had told him to continue his search as this had not been that helpful to find out more about his brother's soul.

He had gone into Mycroft's home office where a few folders with confidential files had lain on the desk. He had rummaged in the drawers and found the name and address of the shelter Mycroft was visiting and donating to. He seemed to have a dog he especially spent time with; a small, brown animal with soulful eyes and ruffled fur named Mikey above all. Sherlock had smiled when he had read a letter that “Mikey” had written to Mycroft to thank him for his attention and money; it had surprised him that Mycroft had kept it.

And then he had found something that had made him swallow: an album with a few dozen photographs, dedicated to one person: himself.

Pictures of him as a child (sometimes with their parents or alone with Mycroft, pictures he had mostly seen before in their mother's album), as a young man, mostly with a pouting expression, and even more of him as an adult. On the latter ones he was always alone. He had no idea who could have taken these photographs; most of them looked really professional. He had never realised that they had been taken. MI5 then? But why?

But he didn’t need God to tell him that these pictures meant one thing: he was the most if not the only important person to his brother.

And this (actually very overdue) conclusion made him feel very guilty, and he walked back to Baker Street with hanging shoulders.

How could he have not seen that? How could he have treated his brother like shit for so long? How much had he hurt Mycroft with it? And still – Mycroft had never let him down; well except for this death mission he had sent him after shooting Magnussen.

_[You don't seriously think he would have let you die there, do you?]_

No, Sherlock didn’t. Mycroft would have saved him in one way or the other. He had been pissed off about Sherlock's stupid actions and probably thought Sherlock needed some time away to think about it… But he would have never really had him killed in Eastern Europe.

_[So what did you learn from this expedition?]_

_It was your idea! And… I learned he loves dogs and porn and to have objects up his…_

_[And?]_

_He loves me._

_[Do tell!]_

_Yeah, I know… But will that help me to make a connection?_

_[It should do! It was the final proof that only you can make him truly happy.]_

_But what exactly should I **do**?_

God sighed again.

_[It's a holiday the day after tomorrow. He will go to the shelter.]_

_Hey, great! Fuck, I need to talk to John… and Mrs Hudson!_

_[Yes. And you know Friday is the second last day.]_

Sherlock needed a plan. And he needed to write this letter. He just couldn’t mess it up… He grew cold when he thought of the consequences. And now it wasn't “only” because he would die otherwise. The worst thing was that he would die and Mycroft might still think he didn’t mean anything to him.

Sherlock didn’t have an album full of pictures of Mycroft. But when he thought about his childhood, what he remembered most was the presence of his brother whenever times had been rough. Well, at least until Mycroft had left for uni…

_[You can’t seriously still be resentful about that!]_

_No, I'm not. It was just the turning point._

_[And now it's in your power to make another one.]_

Yes. And he better not fail…


	4. Thursday

“Wow, you look tired! Couldn’t sleep?” John looked at him full of compassion. He had just put two mugs on the kitchen table.

Sherlock shrugged. “Not much.” He took a bite of his toast.

In fact he had spent half the night with writing this letter. It had been so difficult… But eventually he had finished it but that hadn't meant he had been able to sleep. God had told him the letter was fine after urging him to make some amendments but he was very anxious about giving it to Mycroft. Or rather to Anthea…

He had to find out when Mycroft was not in his office. He took out his phone.

_Hey… Thanks again for bringing the cake. And for waking me up. How's your day? SH_

The reply came after five long minutes. Sherlock could imagine his text had probably shocked his brother…

_Hello, Sherlock. You're welcome. Thank you for the cake and the book. And… I hope those dreams won't bother you any longer. MH_

_I hope so, too. Also for you. Not your fault, remember? I could stitch it on a pillow for you. SH_

_Oh, Sherlock… This means a lot to me. MH_

Sherlock closed his eyes. Why had he not done this long before?

_[Because you were a selfish brat?]_

_Thanks…_

_[Always at your service!]_

_Anytime. Can't watch you blaming yourself. So how's your day? SH_

_Well, I'll be very busy today. I need to go to Buckingham Palace in an hour. What about you? Any clients waiting? MH_

Sherlock realised only now that it had been extremely quiet on the client front this week. He didn’t really have to ask a certain God if he'd had anything to do with this…

_[You need to concentrate! But today you'll have one for the police!]_

_Nothing so far. Just having breakfast. I could come over in a sheet? SH_

_Better not, brother mine. The queen is old. MH_

Sherlock laughed out loud and caught John's curious gaze.

“What's so funny?” the doctor asked with a smile.

“Mycroft.”

“Mycroft made a _joke_? And you are texting with him now? Wow! Times have changed!”

Sherlock looked at him. “Don't you think they should? After all that happened?”

“Of course. But you didn’t seem to care until…”

“I know. But I do now. Would you be okay with having him around more?”

“Sherlock! Sure!”

Sherlock thought that this wasn’t that sure, considering how little John had always liked his brother.

_[In opposite to you, who…]_

_I know! Spare me your sarcasm! It's not a treat!_

He ignored the giggle in his head and concentrated on John. “And I guess you don't mind having a dog, either?”

“A what?”

“I think Rosie would love it.” Sherlock gestured at the little girl in the highchair.

“A dog? Where does this come from?”

“My brother is pretty fond of a shelter dog and I thought, you know, I could take him so he can see him here and take him for a walk in the evening or so.”

John stared at him with his mouth open. “Wow! I mean… And all this because you almost died?”

“No, John. Because I realised that I only have one brother and I want to get along better with him. And all this talking about Redbeard… I know he wasn't a dog but I always wanted one.” And it was true. He had always liked them a lot. It would be nice to have something furry to cuddle with.

_[Mikey! I bet he loves to cuddle!]_

“Well, I have no problem with it as long as it is a nice one.”

Sherlock beamed at his flatmate. “Great! Thank you! I'll go to the shelter tomorrow and have a look at it!”

“What does Mycroft say to that?”

“He doesn’t know it. It's a surprise.”

“I see. Well… It's amazing how things changed.” John got up. “I need to go to work now. I'll drop Rosie at day care.”

John was working in a hospital for two days a week.

“Sure. I'll… be occupied.”

“Don't blow up the house.”

“I'll do my best.”

*****

When he was alone, he fetched the letter from his bedroom to read it once more. It still scared him to think that Mycroft would get to see this. Was it good enough? Too much? Should he rewrite it? He read it three times more and still wasn't sure.

“What are you reading there?”

Sherlock cringed and almost poured his tea over the paper. “Mrs Hudson! Don't creep up on me like this!”

“Sorry, dear.” She patted his shoulder. “I even knocked but you were so focused on your… What is that at all?”

Should he…?

_[If you don't trust my judgement, go ahead!]_

_It's not that I don't trust you but…_

_[Just kidding. Show her already. She's one more nail in Mycroft's coffin. She must be nicer to him as well!]_

“I, um, wrote a letter to Mycroft. You know… I want to be a better brother for him.”

“Oh, that's sweet!”

“Is it? You never liked him!”

“Well, I didn’t because sometimes he really is… intrusive, annoying, simply… Well, you know it. But I guess he does have a very soft spot for you.”

Sherlock nodded. “But I fucked up greatly with him. For a very long time. I thought… I should apologise for that.”

The old lady smiled fondly at him. “That's my boy, all grown-up and sensitive.”

“Are you talking about me?”

She giggled and Sherlock grinned. Then he grabbed the paper and offered it to her. “Would you please read it and tell me what you think?”

“Oh! Yes!” She took it and sat down opposite of him.

Sherlock nervously kneaded his fingers while she was reading.

 _Dear Mycroft_ (he had debated with himself how to address his brother and in the end he had reluctantly stuck to this),

_I guess you´ll be surprised about getting this. But… Some things are easier to write down than to tell the person in question from face to face._

_I'm sorry. That's the bottom line of this_ (God had told him to write this first so Mycroft wouldn’t think he wanted to blame him for anything with this letter).

_Sorry for much more than I could even write but let me mention the most important points._

_I'm sorry I drugged you and stole your laptop to betray the country. It was for a good cause but it was a mistake_ (he had written first that he wasn't sorry for shooting Magnussen. God had said that it wouldn't sound good).

 _I'm especially sorry for physically attacking you after you had threatened me because of Magnussen_ (God had not overly liked the last part of this but it had been true and Mycroft knew it very well).

 _I'm very sorry I scared you with the clown and the dwarf. Or whatever political correct expression I should use for the latter_ (God had found that funny) _. That was not good. I should have just asked. Not sure if you had answered me but I didn’t even give you the chance._

_I apologise for giving the memory stick to Moriarty. I did make sure you get it back but of course if he had taken it, you would have never gotten it. I never thought about the consequences that this had to have for you._

_I'm sorry for all the weight jokes. You know they didn’t make any sense as you've ceased to have any extra pounds since you were about fourteen. You look really good_ (God had told him to add the last sentence. Sherlock had felt a little strange about it but in fact it was true as well…).

 _My apologies for never listening to you when you tried to help me_ ( ** _stuck your nose into my business_** had been thoroughly rejected by God). _Somehow I always rebelled against you. I'm aware that I'm too old for that. And I know that you always wanted the best for me_ ( _I just thought I know better what is the best for me_ had not been to his censor's liking).

_To sum it up: I'm sorry that I made your life much more difficult than it had to be. That I always pushed you away and made fun of you and rejected you when you asked me for help and that I threw your concerns into your face time after time. I was a rubbish little brother to say the least._

_I hope that from now on, things will be better between us. Much better. I do care for you. I always did, deep inside. Well, pretty deep… You know how much I admired you when I was a child. It's no excuse for decades of behaving like I did but I was hurt when you left home to start your own life. I hardly ever saw you anymore and life wasn't easy for me. I know of course you had to go and I don't want to make you feel guilty_ (God's suggestion). _I just want to explain why I started to behave so resentfully towards you. It had nothing to do with me not liking you anymore. I know you do a lot for this country. I know you are dealing with a whole lot responsibilities. I hope we'll spend some more time with each other nonetheless. I would really like to get to know you again._

_You are very important to me. I know I said John was family. But in fact, he's my best friend. You are my family, even more than our parents and much more than Eurus._

_Well, that's about it. I hope you don't mind this long, sentimental letter._

_Caring might not be an advantage but I do care for you._

_Thanks for being there for me._

_Your brother Sherlock_

He had stared at the table and winced when Mrs Hudson started to sob. “What?”

“Oh, Sherlock… This is beautiful!”

“Is it?” He wondered how Mycroft would react to it. Well, certainly not with crying…

“I had no idea… You really did a lot of nasty things to him!”

Sherlock grimaced. “Yes, I did. And still he never let me down.”

“Of course not. He loves you. A lot more than… I thought if he endured all this from you and has still been on your side!”

It didn’t make Sherlock feel any better. “You think I can give it to him?”

“Oh, you must! Do it right now!”

He gave her a wry smile. “I'll wait for another hour and bring it to his office when he's left it. It would kill me to watch _him_ reading it…”

She patted his hand. “I understand. But I'm sure he'll want to talk to you about it.”

“That's okay. He had time to think about it then.” Sherlock winced when his phone chirped with a call. He took it with an apologetic look to Mrs  Hudson. “Lestrade. Do you have a case? I can give you an hour.”

*****

“You okay, Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinked at Lestrade. “Yes, I'm fine. So this is the victim?”

“Um, yes.” _Since we are standing in the morgue in front of a stretcher with a manhandled corpse_ was left unsaid.

“Okay…” Sherlock walked around it, ignoring the expecting looks from both Molly and Lestrade. Stab wounds, strangulation marks, half an arm missing… “Doesn't look good…”

The DI shook his head. “Are you really okay?”

No, he wasn't! This letter, hidden in his shirt pocket, was burning a hole into his chest. What if Mycroft reacted badly to it? Laughed about him?

_[It will be fine, Sherlock.]_

_Can you promise that?_

_[No. Just kidding. Yes, I can. Be prepared to meet him this evening.]_

_Shall I buy something for him again?_

_[No. You just bring yourself and your will to make things better.]_

Sherlock sighed in relief. That really sounded promising…

_[I didn’t say it will make him happy.]_

_Arsehole._

_[You know I can still send you to hell?]_

_Guess it'll be more interesting than hearing the angels singing…_

“Um, any ideas?” Lestrade interrupted his cheerful conversation with his inner voice.

“As a matter of fact, no.”

“But…”

“You know - I'm not a robot! I'm not a magician! I have no idea who did all these awful things to him!” Before he could add that he also didn’t care about it, Lestrade's phone chirped.

“Excuse me. Will be right back.” He shot another worried look at Sherlock before he left the autopsy room.

Sherlock leaned against a wall. He felt as if his world was crumbling under his feet. He had only two days left to make Mycroft happy. If he didn’t find the right way, he would die. He didn’t care about any case or anything else. But damn, he did care about his brother…

“Would you like some coffee?”

He winced when Molly approached him. After this godforsaken day in Sherrinford, he had hardly seen her. They had never spoken about this _I love you_ crap… He shook his head. “No, thanks. I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine.” She came closer. “You know what I think?”

“Nope.” His tone clearly said: _and I don't want to hear it_ , but of course it didn’t keep her from going on.

“You are struggling with your life now that you _again_ almost died.”

_Do tell…_

“You know that your life is missing something – something really important.”

“And what should that be?” As if he didn’t know what she was on about…

“Love. You know you can love. I… think you meant it…”

Sherlock felt like exploding. This was the very last thing he needed now! “No, Molly. You remember the situation? Eurus told me she would blow up your flat if I didn’t get you to say this to me!” He knew John had explained everything to her the day after. “And it was you who insisted on me saying it first!” He knew it was cruel but he just couldn’t deal with that, now less than ever.

Her eyes were full of tears. “But why not? We are perfect for each other!”

Sherlock snorted. “Perfect? I'm gay, Molly. You know what that means?”

She paled. “But you're a virgin, John says. You can't even know that for sure!”

“I do! I never wanted to have sex but if I did, it would be with a man.”

“But why don't you try it? You could die tomorrow and never experience it!”

Sherlock cringed. How true this was… But he had never wanted anyone. He couldn’t even imagine doing anything physically with anyone. And even if he did, he could never endure some… _goldfish_ touching him… Or a woman… Or Molly… “Forget it, Molly,” he said coldly. “We've been friends for a long time now. Don't spoil it.”

She huffed out a laugh while tears were shooting out of her eyes. “Friends… I never wanted to be your friend… I want you!”

“You don't even really know me. And I can never be what you want.”

“Does anybody really know you? Even John? I don't think so.”

“Yes, there is somebody. My brother.” It was true, wasn't it? As far as they'd grown apart, Mycroft always knew what he was doing, where he was going, what he was up to. No matter how little Sherlock knew about him, he was sure that Mycroft with his never-ending care for him understood him better than anyone else.

He grabbed his coat. “I need to go.” Perhaps he could get to Mycroft before he left. Give him the letter.

“But what about him?” Molly pointed at the corpse.

“I can't help you.” And then he hurried out of the morgue, passing by the still talking Lestrade who dropped the hand with the phone to shout after him. Sherlock didn’t stop.

*****

He ran to Whitehall, trying not to think anything. Which was easier said than done, especially for him… But he wanted to give Mycroft the note personally and not worry about his reaction.

His phone vibrated a couple of times – in all probability Lestrade who wanted to shout at him. He ignored it.

When he had almost reached the building, a long, black limousine had just stopped in front of the building, and his brother was about to get into it. The driver had opened the door for him already.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted.

His brother looked up and he saw surprise in his face. But God dammit, it was a pleasant surprise.

_[No swearing, Sherlock!]_

_Yeah, right, Mr Porn-Tale-Teller!_

God giggled once more and the smile Sherlock had given his brother deepened. He reached him now; the older man had waved the driver away and was waiting outside of the car.

“Sherlock. What can I do for you?” He sounded friendly. And pleased. It was clear he was not waiting for an insult or a nasty remark about his weight or his job or whatever. He expected Sherlock to be nice to him and this was more progress than Sherlock had thought possible three days ago.

_[But it's not enough.]_

_I know! Could you just… leave me alone for a second?_

_[No but I'll be silent.]_

_Hopefully!_

“I, um, wanted to give you something…”

“Oh, Sherlock, that's so nice but you don't have to make me presents every day! It's not that it isn't really pleasant but…”

“No, no present, just… something I wrote. For you.” Sherlock fumbled the letter out of his pocket. It was a little crumpled but certainly readable.

Mycroft stared at him and then Sherlock could see a very quick shake of his head as if he had thought about something Sherlock could have written and just denied it to himself.

Still he was smiling when he took it but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes that Sherlock didn’t like at all. He didn’t want to make him sad! He should be fucking happy!

“Thank you. I need to go now but I'll read it on the way.”

“Take your time. Perhaps… we could meet later?” Sherlock knew he sounded like a stalker but what should he do? Without this clock ticking again like it had done in bloody Sherrinford, he would have given Mycroft time to accept the change in his behaviour and would have tried to get closer to him way slower than he did now.

_[Without this clock, you would have never even tried to repair your relationship with him!]_

_What did we agree about you keeping your mouth shut?_

_[Technically I don't even have a mouth. And I'm silent already.]_

_Good!_

“Sure,” Mycroft said and smiled again. “I'll be very busy today but I'll be free in the evening.”

“Great. Your place?”

“Better yes.” Mycroft slightly grimaced, thinking about how they had been disturbed the day before in 221B. “Are you alright, Sherlock?” he asked, clearly not able to figure out why Sherlock was so persistent in seeing him all at once.

“Yes.” Sherlock forced a smile onto his face, trying not to think about what he would in all probability be on Sunday…

“Well, I'll be in touch as soon as I have a chance and then we can make an appointment, alright?”

“Yes. Have a good day then. And my regards to the Queen!”

Mycroft smiled. “If I see her, I'll certainly tell her. By then, Sherlock.” He finally got into the car and Sherlock closed the door for him.

There was something different in the way his brother said his name now. He sounded so… fond…

_[Perhaps because you stopped being an annoying dick?]_

_Perhaps…_

But Sherlock still thought it was strange.

He watched his brother drive off. Then he turned around to walk back to Baker Street. The longer he walked, the more nervous he grew thinking that Mycroft was probably reading his letter now. What would he think about it? What would he feel?

Would it make him happy?

*****

“Mr Lestrade called,” Mrs Hudson said when he stumbled into the house.

“Oh, did he…”

“He said you just left the morgue. What is wrong with you, Sherlock?” The old lady looked very worried. “I hardly recognise you.”

“Because I couldn't solve this bloody case and want to be nice to my brother for a change?”

“I don't know what it is. But it scares me…”

Wasn't it strange that she was the only one who was really worried about him? Everybody else accepted his eccentric behaviour, probably thinking he was out of his mind but nobody seemed to sense that something very important was going on. He wanted to talk about it to somebody… But nobody would believe him… But Mrs Hudson was like a grandmother to him… should he try?

_[Remember – you can tell everybody you want. Just don't expect me to make an appearance to prove it.]_

“I wish I could say it was nothing,” he slowly said. “But perhaps… No, I can't tell you.” He just couldn't let her know that he would be dead in three days if he didn’t succeed in making someone happy who had probably never been happy before!

“Oh, Sherlock, you can tell me everything! I want to help you if I can!”

Sherlock bit his lip. “I can't…”

“Then have at least some tea with me. Come in!”

He didn’t mind. At least he wouldn’t be alone. He was way too tense to concentrate on an experiment and the last thing he wanted was to go back to St. Bart's to try again to solve this murder case.

So he followed her into her flat and sat down at her kitchen table like he had done so many times before.

She provided him with tea and biscuits and sat down opposite of him. She took his big right hand into her small ones. “Look at you! You seem so wired and desperate. It's not because of this letter, is it?”

Sherlock sighed. “That's part of it. I… need to get along better with Mycroft, Mrs Hudson. But so far I haven't found the right way.”

“But why now?”

“I can't say it! You would never believe me. But… my life depends on it.”

“What?” She paled and he regretted his honesty at once.

“That was put too dramatically,” he lied to soothe her. “But I really must get through to him.”

She nodded slowly. “I can imagine it's very difficult. You are so different. Some things are the same, like your intelligence and your habit of manipulating people and being rather cold.”

Sherlock grimaced. That wasn’t a very flattering description of his character. But it was true of course. For both of them.

“But you are both able to care a lot for people who managed to get through your barriers.”

“But how can I break through _his_ barriers?”

“I don't know him enough to tell you that, Sherlock. But he definitely loves you very much. You are his one and only. When he was here, I could see it. And what you told me about this nasty day in this prison… He was willing to die for you.”

And Sherlock had thanked him this by sending Lestrade to take care of him… The DI had told him that Mycroft had thanked him for checking on him but had then sent him away after assuring him that he was very well able to deal with it on his own. Sherlock knew he should have gone to him himself. If he had, he would have fewer problems now…

“I know. I… like him very much as well.”

“No, Sherlock. You love him.”

“Well… yes. He's my brother.” That was what people did, wasn't it? Love their siblings and their parents? Love might be a social construct but Sherlock was willing to admit that in these cases, it was implanted at birth.

“Show him.”

“But how?” That was the question.

“Cuddle with him,” Mrs Hudson said and took a sip of her tea.

“Cuddle?!” With _Mycroft_? Okay, Mycroft had embraced him the day before, but he had comforted Sherlock after his disturbing dream like an older brother did for the younger one, no matter that the younger one was close to forty…

“Yes, Sherlock, cuddle! It might not be easy but I'm sure he'll appreciate it.”

“Oh, you really think so?”

_What do **you** think?!_

_[Oh, I'm allowed to talk again? You even ask for my opinion? I'm touched!]_

_You didn’t answer my question!_

_[Apologies! Yes, I think this woman is very wise!]_

“Yes, Sherlock, I think he would like that. Of course the situation must be right. Otherwise he might find it odd.”

Yeah, odd… Sherlock sighed.

Mrs Hudson watched him closely. “Do you ever cuddle with anyone, Sherlock?”

He snorted. “With whom? Okay, sometimes I do with Rosie.”

She smiled. “Yes, of course. But I meant an adult person.”

“Please, don't do the same as Molly…”

“Oh, the poor girl. She'll never get over you. She really needs to see that she'll never have you.”

“At least someone who gets that!”

“Oh, you are so gay, Sherlock. Of course she can't have you.”

Sherlock was irritated. “I am what?”

_[Focus, Sherlock. You can discuss your camp behaviour with her when this is over.]_

_My **what**?!_

He wasn't surprised to only hear another giggle.

Mrs Hudson patted his hand. “Of course you are. I still wish you and John… but well… Don't you miss it?”

“What, sex?”

“Not only sex. Kissing someone, just being physically close to someone.”

He'd had this discussion before, hadn't he? With Angelo? And then Molly with her blunt try to get into his pants. Not even mentioning Irene years ago. Why couldn’t they accept that he didn’t have any interest in this stuff?

“You know, Sherlock, there are people out there who don't need this. They are born like this. Asexual you call them I guess.”

“I think so, yes.”

“But you're not.”

“And how do you know that? I'm thirty-seven and still a virgin!”

“I just know you. You never allowed yourself to get close to someone. And now we know why.”

Because of Victor… Sherlock tensed. Was that true? Had he foregone all true emotional bindings because he'd been afraid of losing this person as well?

“Do you masturbate?”

“What?!” He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Oh, Sherlock… I'm old but not dead. You can tell me.”

It took him a while to honestly answer her. “Yes. Sometimes. Very rarely.” Only with his right hand. He didn’t own any toys like his brother. He swallowed at the image of Mycroft using one of these silicone lovers on himself, inserting them into his... He pushed the picture away.

The old lady smiled. “See. Then you are a sexual being. You just need to find the right partner then.”

Why did everybody want to see him fuck someone?! “And in what way does that help me to deal with Mycroft?”

In this moment his phone vibrated again. He looked at the display, half expecting it to be an exasperated text from Lestrade. But it wasn’t.

_Sherlock. Thank you. I don't have much time now but I had to text you. I don't know what to say. MH_

_Well, it was easier to write the letter than to tell you. I'm really sorry. And I have to thank you for not letting me down despite all these awful things. SH_

_I will never let you down. Never. And what you wrote means so much to me. MH_

_Does that mean you accept my apology? SH_

_Of course I do. And I would love to spend a lot more time with you. MH_

_That's great. I want that, too. Today? SH_

_Yes! Let's say come over at seven. I should be at home by then. If anything changes, I will let you know, alright? MH_

_Yes, sounds very good! SH_

_Fine. I need to run again now. Thank you again. And… don't worry about showing me that you care for me. I know what I used to tell you. Forget it. MH_

_Okay! Same for you! SH_

_Thank you. Bye for now. MH_

_Yes. Bye and see you later. SH_

_Definitely. MH_

“Oh, Sherlock. You should see your face now! You look so happy!”

Sherlock sighed. “I am. But… _he_ must be happy, too.” It had sounded very promising though.

_[You're not there yet.]_

_Thanks for reminding me._

_[Just don't get too confident.]_

_No worries…_

Sherlock got up. “I think I'll have a nap now.” He had slept so little and he wanted to be awake when he met his brother. “Thank you for the tea.” He took a biscuit.

Mrs Hudson smiled. “Take a few more with you. And I hope everything will be fine with him.”

Sherlock nodded. “Thanks. I hope so, too.”

He went upstairs and lay down on his bed. Time to rest and get prepared for the evening and then finally get things right.

*****

“Hello, Sherlock. Come in.”

Sherlock saw his brother smile at him and he nodded and stepped into the house. His heart was beating way faster than it should. He gave Mycroft a package. “Um, I thought I'd bring you some whiskey.” He had seen his brother's favourite brand when he had searched the house. God had said he didn’t need to bring him a gift but fuck, he would do all he could!

“Oh, thank you. You really shouldn't do that.” Mycroft still seemed surprised about his ongoing generosity. He opened the box. “Exactly what I like. How did you know?”

 _Shit…_ “You must have mentioned it.”

Mycroft's face clearly said: _no, I didn’t_ , but he didn't say it. “Come to the living room. I've prepared some sandwiches for us. Guess you haven't had dinner yet?”

Of course he hadn't. He had been way too nervous to even think of eating anything. “No. That was nice of you. Thank you!”

_[Wow, look who's suddenly all polite and well-mannered!]_

_Look who should just shut up again!_

Sherlock grinned about the snigger in his head. God, he had to admit that he would miss that… once he had won. Or lost… His grin died.

“You alright?” Mycroft asked him.

“Oh, fine. I'm fine. And hungry.”

“Well, that's good. I've made plenty of sandwiches.” Mycroft smiled and Sherlock returned it.

His brother looked very good, he thought. He was dressed in black trousers and a light-blue shirt without a vest over it. But he was wearing the sleeve garters. Somehow he had to stare at them. They looked… odd… but somehow not on Mycroft. He was a man out of time in a way. Well, just like Sherlock…

He followed him into the living room and sat down on the couch. After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft joined him.

They shared a look, and for a moment nobody said a word. There was a strange tension in the room. And then Sherlock grabbed a sandwich, ripped it in two parts and put one of them into his mouth.

Mycroft made a very funny face and Sherlock burst out laughing, trying not to spit out the food or choke on it. After a second, Mycroft joined in.

While Sherlock was chewing and swallowing down the delicious combination of bread, cheese and bacon, Mycroft poured some water for him.

"You are really hungry," he stated and carefully laid a sandwich onto his plate.

"Yes." Sherlock was feeling better now.

"Sherlock... what you wrote me... I cannot even begin to tell you how pleased I was about it."

 _Did it make you happy?!_ Sherlock was about to cry out, but he didn't. There was no lightning in the room or a heavenly choir singing so in all probability he had not reached his aim with the letter.

_[But you **are** getting somewhere. The question is: will it be enough in time? And who said I would be so dramatic when it really happens?]_

Sherlock chose to ignore the voice now. "I'm happy you liked it. It was not easy."

Mycroft nodded. "I figure. We are not the most experienced ones in expressing sentiment."

 _Nicely put..._ "No, not really. But I meant every word. I was a pain in the arse for way too long and I want to make up for it."

"But why now?"

 _Because I'll die if I don't..._ "Sherrinford," Sherlock lied. But it wasn't a full lie. Sherrinford had shown him that he did care for his brother. Only that afterwards he had been so consumed by other things that he had not taken the time to really think about it... Like visiting the sister who had almost killed them... Why exactly did he do that?

"I won't go to Sherrinford anymore," he said.

"Oh. But you don't have to let it be because of me." Mycroft did seem to be pleased nonetheless.

"It's pointless."

Mycroft nodded. "I see. Well..."

They were silent again for too long and Sherlock was panicking again. They would never get anywhere like this! "So... How was it in the palace?"

Mycroft looked surprised but then he smiled. "Boring without you in a sheet." He immediately blushed and Sherlock grinned. His brother had been so embarrassed...

"I told you I would come over."

"Yes."

Another silence followed and Sherlock didn't like it at all. Then he had an idea. "Oh, there's a stain on your shirt."

Mycroft looked down on himself with narrowed eyes. "Where?"

Sherlock moved closer to him and rubbed at his squeaky clean collar. "I think it's gone." And then he wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

Mycroft stiffened under his touch and stared at him. And all at once there was an expression of deep sadness in his eyes that Sherlock didn't understand at all. Desperately he pulled Mycroft closer and after a second, Mycroft slumped into his embrace.

Sherlock had never held someone like this except for John after his breakdown. But this felt different. His head was spinning because of Mycroft's look but it felt so damn good to hold his brother like this. "I remember the sandwiches you loved as a child," he said, not knowing where this came from all at once. "Full of butter and jelly and honey and..."

"Yes," Mycroft interrupted him. He was still completely still in Sherlock's arm. "I ate way too many of them and got fat."

"But you're not fat anymore. You never were! Just a bit chubby! And you made sandwiches for me, too. They were so good." He was babbling like a fool but he had to fill this silence.

Mycroft smiled against his throat. "You were such a sweet boy."

"And now I'm a sweet man," Sherlock joked.

"Yes you are." Mycroft pulled away abruptly. "Well... Guess we should eat a bit more and then I have to prepare some things for Saturday. I'm having a meeting for the MI5."

"At the weekend? And tomorrow is a holiday. What will you do then?"

Mycroft blushed. "Not sure yet. But probably also doing some work."

He lied. God had told Sherlock he would go visiting the shelter. And Sherlock would meet him there. Fuck, the time was running so fast...

Having run out of ideas, he ate mechanically and then got up to leave. He hadn't achieved anything...

_[I wouldn't say that...]_

_Oh really? And what exactly should that be?_

He didn’t get an answer.

Mycroft brought him to the door. "Thank you again, Sherlock. It's very nice that we can be like this with each other now."

 _Like what? Totally awkward and not knowing what to say?_ "Yes," he mumbled in a hopeless tone. Then he did all he could think of and pulled his brother into a hug once more. Mycroft gasped and then he slung his arms around his waist. And something happened in Sherlock's heart. Something strange and indescribable but not unpleasant.

He pulled back when Mycroft loosened his grip and said: "Bye, brother mine. See you soon then."

"Yes, Sherlock. I hope so." But the sadness in his eyes was still there. Along with a different sentiment. Love...

And Sherlock burst out: "I love you, Mycroft." Frightened by his own courage, he turned around and left, hearing nothing but a gasp and then silence behind him.


	5. Friday

It had taken Sherlock ages to fall asleep. He had tossed and turned, desperately trying to not think of his fate if things went on like this.

He had hoped for a message from his brother but his phone had remained silent.

Their relationship had developed over the past days for sure but Sherlock had no doubt that Mycroft was far from being happy…

In the early morning hours, he had finally fallen asleep. In the middle of a dream about hellfire and Molly Hooper, telling him she knew he loved her, he was drawn to conscience by a weight on the mattress next to him. It took him Herculean efforts to open his eyes – and then he shrieked.

Jim Moriarty was sitting on his bed, grinning at him, his black eyes sparkling with craziness. Half of his head was missing. “Morning. Did you miss me?”  He poked Sherlock into the chest. This was not a dream!

Sherlock shrieked again, trying to pull away, and then Jim turned into an old man with a white beard, grinning even wider.

The relief turned into wrath within a second. “Oh, fuck! What is that?! Are you completely…”

The old, wrinkled face had grown serious while he had started to yell. “Hush, Sherlock. You need to get ready. Your brother will soon go to the shelter and you should be there before him.” God's voice was calm but firm.

Sherlock slumped back into his pillows. “And you couldn't just shout in my head or at least wake me as yourself?!”

“Where would have been the fun in that? And remember – what you see is just an image. One is as good as the other one.”

“I beg to differ! You almost…”

_“Sherlock?! What's wrong?”_

_Fuck, John…_ God made an _oops_ -face and disappeared. A second later the door was ripped open. John was still wearing his pyjamas (apparently Rosie had let him sleep in today) and his hair was a ruffled mess, resembling a bale of straw. “What happened?” he demanded to know.

“Nothing, John. Just had a bad dream.”

“Oh. You never do.” John came closer, a compassionate look in his eyes.

“No. Well, I gotta go. The dog, you know.”

“Oh, I should come with you!”

 _Fuck!_ “Well… I want to go there alone at the first time. Just have a look, you know.”

“As you wish. You… Oh my God, Sherlock!”

“What?!” Sherlock had stalked past him to get into the bathroom, only wearing his black briefs. John was looking at him wide-eyed and shocked. “What's the matter with you? You did see me half-naked before!”

“But… where are they?”

“They? Who?”

“The scars! Of, you know, you being tortured when you were away. And here…” John pressed his forefinger against Sherlock's chest. “Where… Mary shot at you… They are all gone!”

_[Oops]_

And now Sherlock remembered what God had told him about removing the bruises after John had gotten him back to life. _I let some scars disappear…_

And Sherlock hadn't even noticed. Now he did. Glancing down on his hairless chest, he saw nothing but flawless skin. The visible proof that he had not gone crazy and was hearing voices…

He had showered every day, thinking thoroughly of his task and never paying attention to it. Well, the ones from Serbia had been on his back, hard to see for him. But he had not even missed the shotgun wound…

_Oops, yes!_

_[I just wanted to do you a favour!]_

_I know…_

_[Tell him it was a miracle! Or the drugs this guy gave you!]_

_Great idea! He might suggest applying for a patent on this substance then! Only that it won't work!_

Sherlock played cool. “Must have disappeared by themselves.”

“What?” John shook his head. “Scars like these ones don't just _disappear_!”

“Well, obviously they did. If you excuse me now…”

“What is going on here, Sherlock? What happened since this little adventure with CC?”

Sherlock sighed. “I can't tell you. You would never believe me.”

“It has something to do with you being so keen on getting close to your brother. But… what?” John's face was a mask of confusion and he seemed to be hurt. “I wouldn’t believe you? Try me!”

“Let it lie, John. Not now. We'll talk about it on Sunday.”

“Why Sunday?”

 _Because then I have either succeeded and will be able to think of a good story or I'll be dead..._ “Just take my word for now. Please.”

John nodded. “What else can I do. If you don't trust me.”

“Oh, John, this isn't about not trusting you. You know I trust you with my life.”

John blushed. “Oh. Thank you. Well, so do I.”

“Fine. I just can't tell you now.” Sherlock forced a smile onto his face. “I better get ready.”

“Will Mycroft be there, too?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you that?”

Oh, John was smart. “No.”

“But you know it.”

“Yes. Listen, I really got to go.”

“Alright, Sherlock. Just don't forget I'm here if you want to talk.”

Before Sherlock could think, he had crossed the distance between them and hugged John. “I know. Thank you.” This embrace felt different, he realised. There was still some warmth in his heart but it had been so much stronger with his brother… And somehow this was disturbing him. He shook the thought off. He had no time for thoughts about sentiments.

John had blushed even harder when he let him go. “Anytime, Sherlock. I hope whatever you're on about, it'll work out.”

“Yes. I hope so, too…” _And I hope I'll still be there on Sunday to tell you some nice lies or, who knows, perhaps even the truth._

*****

Sherlock had never been here before. About five kilometres out of London was the shelter _Saviours_. In the middle of an untouched piece of nature was a large building, surrounded by generous kennels.

The noise of the barking was overwhelming. Sherlock stepped closer, taking in the sight of dozens of tiny dogs with high yelps and huge ones with deep growling and every size in between. Everything looked clean and neat and there were baskets and blankets and little houses they could retreat into, but it was a sad place nonetheless. All these dogs were missing a real home where they were the little prince or princess, not just an item in a cage to look after.

He knelt down in front of a kennel with five puppies along with her mother, stroking them through the fence, smiling as they licked his hand, when a male voice startled him. "Good morning. I'm Pete. They're cute, aren't they?"

Sherlock got up. "Yes, they certainly are."

"Oh, fuck! Sorry. But you're Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I am."

"But there's no case here, is it?" He looked around with a worried expression. He was about thirty and very handsome with a stylish hairdo, big blue eyes and full lips. His clothes were not exactly clean but that was to be expected. He was most certainly gay.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no case. I'm looking for a dog for myself and my flatmate and his little girl."

"Oh, great! We have lots of wonderful dogs here. But... _Holmes_... Are you related to Mycroft Holmes?"

"Yes. He's my older brother. You know him?" Sherlock played innocent.

"Yes! He comes here almost every week and donates a lot of money to us. He's an angel!"

Sherlock was stunned. He had heard a lot of names for Mycroft but he was sure nobody had ever called him an angel... The admiring smile on the boy's face told him that he appreciated his brother for more than his donations and the time he spent in the shelter. He had a crush on him. And somehow Sherlock didn't like that...

_[Well, why should you mind?]_

_Don't know. But it doesn't make him happy so..._

_[Ah. That's a good reason!]_

_Fuck you._

_[No, Sherlock. That's nothing I use to do.]_

He concentrated on the young man again. "So... Does my brother have any special favourites here?"

"Yes! Mikey is his goddog."

"His what?!"

Pete grinned. "You know – like a godchild! He takes him for a walk whenever he comes here and plays with him; for about two years already."

"Oh, I see. Well, can I see Mikey then?"

"Yes, of course! I think your brother wanted to come over today, too!"

"Oh does he. I'm sure he doesn't mind."

"Of course not. Why should he? Come, follow me."

Five minutes later, Sherlock was standing in front of another cage and saw Mikey, Mycroft's dog of choice, for the first time. He was small and brown with a look that could have melted a stone. He immediately licked Sherlock's hand when Sherlock had gotten on his knees, wagging his tail like crazy. One ear was hanging, one was standing up. He was adorable. What Sherlock had not seen on the picture was that the dog was missing a hind leg.

"It doesn't bother him," Pete told him. "He runs around like every other dog. But of course nobody wants a dog with three legs. He's been here for three years. He was hit by a car and his owners couldn’t deal with his injury."

"Oh..." A strange sentiment was rushing through Sherlock's heart. He had seen so much cruelty and vice and all kinds of manhandled human corpses and had been untouched, but this little dog's fate almost brought him to tears. Before he could answer, he heard a gasp behind them.

"Sher... Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

Sherlock stood up and turned to his brother. He had a bag in his hand and stared at Sherlock as if he saw him for the first time.

"Hello Mycroft. I'm looking for a dog. John and I think it would be nice to have one. Rosie should grow up with a pet."

"Oh." Mycroft seemed to be speechless. So was Sherlock after taking in his brother's looks. No suit today, no sleeve garters, no umbrella. It was a sunny, warm spring day and Mycroft was wearing light trousers and a pale-green shirt without a tie. The first button wasn't closed so Sherlock could see wiry chest hair. It made him feel strange. Mycroft looked so… physical…

_[In opposite to his usual looks as they are ethereal?]_

_Oh, can you just…_

_[My imaginary mouth is closed.]_

"Um, I told your brother about Mikey, Mr Holmes. He wanted to have a look at him," Pete threw in after looking from one brother to the other.

"Yes, I see," Mycroft said and finally moved to greet the dog that was jumping up and down in his cage. "Hello, little man. Care for a walk?"

Sherlock couldn't believe the change of Mycroft's voice and expression when he was talking to the dog. His features were soft and so was his voice. He seemed so much younger and... softer than usual.

_[Don't just stand around watching. Say something!]_

"Can I... accompany you two?" he asked shyly.

Mycroft turned around to him. "Yes, of course." He smiled at Sherlock and for a moment he really looked happy.

Sherlock's heart made a jump and he smiled back. For a few seconds his gaze got lost in his brother's pale-blue eyes and his throat became disturbingly dry. Then Pete said: "Here you go," and handed a leash over to the older man. Then he opened the door of the kennel and let Mikey out.

*****

“You alright, Sherlock?”

“Hm? Oh, sure…”

“You just looked a bit upset.”

_[Yes, Sherlock, why? Because this cheeky boy looked at your brother's butt when he walked off?]_

_Fuck, yes._

_[Interesting…]_

_Spare me your sarcasm. They don't fit._

_[How would you know? You only just met this guy and it's not as if you knew that much about your brother! Otherwise you would know what to do to make him happy!]_

_Please, tell me…_

Of course God didn’t… Two days. Actually the rest of today and the next one. That was all Sherlock had left. All at once he grew cold inside. He shuddered and stood, and Mycroft looked at him with eyes full of concern.

“Sherlock, dear, come, let's sit down. Just one second.”

Sherlock watched him opening the bag and taking out a light-blue blanket. Mycroft put it next to a tree and then urged Sherlock to sit down on it. The dog looked up at him and Sherlock could have sworn he looked worried, too.

“There you go.” Mycroft sat down next to him and pulled him close.

Sherlock rested his head on his shoulder. Even though he felt like panicking, he took in the scent of Mycroft's eau de cologne, his shampoo and the warm, soft, freshly shaven skin of his cheek. The dog was standing on Mycroft's thighs and Sherlock reached out to touch his soft fur.

“What's wrong with you, Sherlock?” Mycroft whispered.

Sherlock nuzzled his face against Mycroft's throat, suddenly dying for closeness… He was so scared. How would it happen?

_[I told you that you can choose. But you still have time.]_

_Tell me! Please! I don't want to die! And I don't want to lose him…_

_[I'm sorry, Sherlock. These are the rules. I did help you along the way but you need to understand and you need to make him happy.]_

Sherlock slumped against Mycroft, tears welling up in his eyes. The dog huffed out a small yelp.

His brother stroked over his back. “Sherlock! What is the matter with you?”

“I'm fine,” he mumbled. “Just so… tired.”

“Poor boy,” Mycroft whispered. “Lestrade called me yesterday.”

“Oh. You didn’t say.” Of course… Lestrade complaining about Sherlock's inability to solve the bloody case. As if this wasn't the DI's job in the first place!

“He was worried.”

“Worried? Or pissed off?” Sherlock lifted his head and sat up as it was simply embarrassing to cling to his brother like a little boy.

Mycroft leaned his back against the tree, bringing a tad more distance between them as well. “Worried, Sherlock. He's used to you being cool and efficient and solving his cases with a snap of your fingers, and it scared him that you just ran off.”

“Well, it didn’t work.” His brain hadn't worked.

“Do you know why?”

Of course he did. But he definitely couldn't tell Mycroft, who was looking at him with a mixture of sentiments in his eyes that confused Sherlock. There was worry of course and interest and pity and… sadness. Why sadness again? What should he do?! He shook his head. “I just… don't have a clear mind for this at the moment.”

“So something's bothering you?” His voice was soft and full of compassion. And then his phone rang. “Damn. Sorry.” He pulled it out. “I need to take it. Just a moment.” He didn’t stand up and walk away, obviously feeling comfortable with Sherlock listening to him.

“Sure.” Sherlock smiled at him. Mycroft had not planned to spend time with him now so why did he feel the urge to apologise for that?

Mycroft smiled back, took the call and at the same time got a red frisbee out of his bag and handed it over to Sherlock. He was confused for a second but then the dog jumped onto his lap and he grinned and threw the toy for him.

The dog ran after it; his missing leg really seemed to be no problem for him. He yapped and wagged his tail and then he caught the frisbee and came back with it.

“Good boy!” Sherlock said and took it from him just to throw it once more. While he watched Mikey running after it, he heard Mycroft talking next to him. It was the office of course and Mycroft didn't seem to be too happy. His voice was cold and harsh and so different from the way he had just spoken with Sherlock and had addressed the dog.

Sherlock let Mikey chase after the toy again and looked over to his brother. Mycroft's eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed together while he was listening to his counterpart. But when he caught Sherlock's gaze, his eyes lightened up and he smiled, and Sherlock felt a strange sting in his heart. He spontaneously reached out and touched Mycroft's shoulder, and his brother's eyes widened before his attention was called back to the voice on the line.

After Sherlock had thrown the Frisbee again, Mikey seemed to have enough and lay down next to them, panting but visibly happy. It was so easy to make _him_ happy, Sherlock thought.

Mycroft ended his call. “Sorry again.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

Mycroft huffed out a laugh. “Paradise? Not quite. Even on a holiday I have to take care of people's messes…” He stroked over Mikey's head. “Had a good play, buddy?” The dog looked up to him and seemed to grin.

Sherlock liked the view. “He's great.” _And so are you…_

“Yes, he is. I wish I could take him home but… you know my work times…”

Sherlock nodded. “Well, I'll bring him over in the evenings then or you can come over.” _At least if I survive… Otherwise you can share him with John… Oh fuck…_

Mycroft was taken aback. “You mean… you want to take him home?”

“Of course! He's perfect!” The dog was cute and smart and Sherlock knew John and Rosie would be fond of him, too. He hadn't asked Mrs Hudson what she was thinking of pets in her house, but he knew she wouldn’t mind. And when he was dead, he could be a comfort for his friends…

“ _Perfect_ … Oh Sherlock. That's… amazing.”

Sherlock bit his lips hard. Was this the moment? Mycroft had just sounded really happy. He closed the distance between them and Mycroft slung an arm around his waist. Sherlock embraced his neck with one arm and their eyes locked. Sherlock's heart started to beat very fast. This was…

“Oh, look at that! Cosy faggots! Will you fuck now?”

Both brothers whirled around. Two boys, around thirteen or fourteen, were standing about ten metres away from them, disgust and mockery on their faces. Mycroft let Sherlock go at once and Sherlock felt an urge to get up and bang their heads together for embarrassing his brother like this and for disturbing and destroying this intimate moment. Before he could react, Mikey got up and growled.

“Oh, look, a crippled dog! Do you fuck him, too?” The boy had dirty-blond hair and a plain, dumb face and a very silly laugh.

“Sherlock, don't…” Mycroft pulled at his arm when Sherlock shot up.

Sherlock shook him off. He hadn't been that angry for a very long time. “You have five seconds,” he said coldly. “If you haven't disappeared until then, I'll rip your legs out and shove them up your butts.”

“I bet you know everything about butts,” the blond boy said, but the other one, a red-head with a freckled face, took his arm.

“Let's go,” he whispered.

“You're not afraid of these sissies, are you?!” his friend mocked him.

Sherlock made a step forward. He could hear Mycroft getting up as well. “The five seconds are over.” His deep voice was flat but he knew how his eyes had to look.

A moment later, they were alone again, not even a cloud of dust reminding them of the nasty incident. Sherlock turned around and knew that the pleasant time they'd just had was over. “Sorry,” he said.

Mycroft shook his head. “There's nothing you had to be sorry for. Nice threat by the way…” He blushed a little. “Well, why don't we walk a bit now and then talk to Pete?”

“Yes. I'll need a lot of stuff for the dog I think. So will you. Perhaps we can take him tomorrow then.”

“We can buy the things together tomorrow morning and then fetch him if Pete's okay with it,” Mycroft suggested. “Later I'll be in this meeting.”

The time was running out. Sherlock nodded, his heart feeling heavy once more. “That would be great.” He tried not to show how scared and disturbed he was.

And then Mycroft stored the blanket and took the leash, and they continued their way, none of them happy except for the dog.

*****

“Wow, that's great! Really?” Pete was all excitement and joy and he beamed at both Mycroft and Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. We would like to take him home tomorrow. I mean… my home but my brother will share the dog with me.”

“Yes. I think that's the best solution,” Mycroft added.

“God, I'm so happy!” Pete burst out and Sherlock grimaced. What would he have given to hear this sentence out of _Mycroft's_ mouth?

_[You made this cute boy happy and you'll make the dog happy. Rosamund and her father will be happy as well and your Mrs Hudson will adore the dog and be happy, too. All that's missing is your brother. You can do that!]_

_Bloody tell me how!_

_[Not again. Just open your eyes!]_

Sherlock was close to running against the next tree head first. He didn’t have a clue…

On their way they had talked about Mycroft longing for a dog since he'd been a boy. He had played with their neighbours' two dogs before Sherlock had been old enough to walk. _“Then I didn’t have much time anymore,”_ Mycroft had said fondly.

He had been calm and friendly but had kept his distance. Sherlock couldn’t blame him… These little fuckers had destroyed everything with their dirty fantasy and their disgusting behaviour.

They had not talked about the reasons for Sherlock's inability to solve the case anymore. Despite the distance, Sherlock had felt close to his brother and at the same time his heart had been filled with fear and pain. Probably this would be not only the first but also the last time he was walking through the woods with his brother and their dog.

Sherlock had never felt so hopeless.

And now Pete laid a hand on each brother's shoulder but the hand on Mycroft's was closer to the neck. “I bet he'll have a great life with the both of you. I would like to check on him if I may?” This question was directed at Mycroft and Sherlock didn’t like it.

“Sure,” his brother said and Sherlock bit his lip.

They would make a handsome couple, he had to admit. Very unusual but hell – in his casual clothes, Mycroft looked a lot younger than usual and it was not that difficult to imagine them together. And the look in Pete's eyes told Sherlock that he would love to be the one to wake up in Mycroft's bed in the morning.

“Um, I'll be finished for today soon,” Pete brought out, his cheeks flushing. “Would you like to have coffee maybe?”

“We'd love to,” Sherlock said. “Black, two sugars please.”

Mycroft looked at him with a surprised expression and Pete shook his head.

“No, I meant… Never mind.”

The older brother turned to him again. “I'm afraid I'll be tied up this afternoon. A colleague of mine has invited me to a little party. Just for… people from the office,” he added.

A colleague? Sherlock had a suspicion.

_He's not going to spend the holiday with Lady Smallwood, is he?_

_[I do believe he is.]_

_But why?! He can't want anything from her!_

_[Um, I don't know.]_

_Of course you do!_

_[Yeah I do. Use your deduction powers, Sherlock Holmes!]_

Mycroft rather spent the day with the old witch instead of Pete. Or him… It meant he didn’t want to be with the boy. It was a relief he had to admit even though he didn’t know why… But…

“So, when will you come over tomorrow?” Pete interrupted his thoughts.

“About twelve I'd say, what do you think, Sherlock? Gives us time to get the items we need before, and after we took the dog I'll go to the Diogenes for the meeting.”

 _And at midnight I'll die…_ “Fine with me,” Sherlock mumbled. He got onto his knees and kneaded Mikey's ears. “Bye, little man. See you tomorrow.” He felt dizzy and desperate once more. He wouldn’t have this dog for long. He wouldn’t have anything anymore.

“Are you alright, Sherlock?”

He stood up. “Yes. Let's go then.”

*****

“Of course you can bring this dog here, Sherlock!” Mrs Hudson smiled. “If you say he's lovely, he surely is. It will be so nice for Rosie.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, I do believe so. Thank you.”

“Oh my boy. You look so sad again.”

Sherlock forced himself to smile. “I'm fine,” he lied. “I guess I'll… go into my room for a while.” John and Rosie had gone out before he'd returned.

“Alright. But if you want to talk, you know where you can find me.”

“Thank you, Mrs Hudson. For everything.” With this he slowly walked into his bedroom.

What was one supposed to do on the second last day of his life? He knew he should call his mother but he just couldn't talk to her now. And there was nobody else. He would see John soon but apart from him, he didn’t feel any urge to contact anyone. Nobody except for… He took out his phone.

_Are you having fun? SH_

The answer came after twenty seconds.

_I wouldn’t quite say that. It's business. What about you? MH_

_No, not much. SH_

_Can I help you in any way? MH_

Sherlock felt his eyes getting wet. _Oh, Mycroft…_

_I guess not. All I want is to see you happy. SH_

_Sherlock, what is wrong with you? MH_

It was hopeless…

_Nothing is wrong. Enjoy your afternoon; we will see each other in the morning. SH_

_We will. But… I really want to help you. MH_

_Don't worry about me. Just never forget that you mean a lot to me. SH_

_What you said to me yesterday… MH_

_I meant it. SH_

_I do, too. MH_

And now thick tears were running down Sherlock's cheeks.

 _Thank you._ _I wish I could see you again today. SH_

_I'm afraid I'll have no time. But on Sunday I'll be free. MH_

_Fine. Bye for now. SH_

On Sunday he would be dead.


	6. Saturday

“You think we've got everything now?” They had just left the huge store. Mycroft had insisted on paying for everything.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, and if anything's missing, I'll fetch it later, no problem. We have baskets and blankets and bowls and lots of food – it should be fine for now.” He smiled at Mycroft and was rewarded with a shy smile from him and internally he felt like screaming and shooting himself to finally get it over with.

He had no hope left.

They had spent two hours getting everything Mikey would need for his two homes. He would be in 221B most of the time of course but he could as well stay over with Mycroft now.

Sherlock and Mycroft had gotten along very well, but Mycroft had avoided any body contact and Sherlock could sense the melancholy behind his rare smiles.

Mycroft wasn't happy and Sherlock knew he would not find the way. Getting closer to him had not done the deed.

_It's really just a game to you, isn't it? You could have as well sent me through on Monday. I never had a chance._

_[No, Sherlock. You had and still have a fair chance.]_

_Yeah, right… I hope you enjoyed the show so far. I was nothing than a marionette for you._

_[And who pulled the strings?]_

_You did!_

_[No, it's all up to you. You just have to find the way. You still have more than twelve hours left.]_

It could as well be twelve _years_. Sherlock would never be able to make his brother happy. This was the _real_ final problem…

“Sherlock, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Sherlock said, avoiding Mycroft's gaze. “Let's go get the dog now.”

*****  

“Alright, little guy,” Mycroft said after getting up from cuddling Mikey. “Time to go home.”

Pete had been looking at Mycroft's butt again. And now that they were about to leave (after paying and signing for the dog), he was shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

Mycroft gave him a smile and turned around to go, the dog on the leash. Pete opened his mouth and Sherlock patted his shoulder. _“No,”_ he mouthed.

“But why not?” Pete whispered.

_Because you're handsome and a really nice guy and so good to the dogs but you don't deserve my brother._

_[Ah, and why is that so, Sherlock?]_

_He just doesn't!_

_[Now I'm informed, thank you!]_

“He's not up to that,” Sherlock whispered back and then Mycroft turned around and gave him a questioning look. Had he understood what he had said?

“But…”

“Just don't,” Sherlock hissed when Mycroft continued to walk, followed by the non-stop tail-wagging dog, and Pete blushed and kept his mouth shut. But he accompanied them to the exit.

Mikey sniffed at every cage they passed by as if to say goodbye to his friends. Sad eyes were following him, and Sherlock swore to himself that he would do something for this shelter. Perhaps John could blog about it. There had to be more people out there who could adopt a dog! He was sure the puppies would find a home, but what about the others?

When they had reached the exit, Pete kneeled down and ruffled Mikey's ears. “Bye, sweetie. You'll have it very good now.”

“He will,” both Sherlock and Mycroft said and then smiled at each other. Sherlock felt like crying but he desperately tried not to show it. The confused looks Mycroft was constantly giving him were proof enough that he didn’t quite succeed.

They shook hands with Pete who refrained from hitting on Mycroft again, and then they walked to the waiting car. Mycroft would bring Sherlock and Mikey over to Baker Street and then his driver would carry the stuff Mycroft had bought for himself to his house and then bring Mycroft to the Diogenes for the meeting. Sherlock had asked Mycroft to stay until he was back and help him set up the basket and everything else for the dog.

He took place on the back seat, Mikey on his lap, and to his surprise, Mycroft joined him. “Let's go, Jeff,” he told the driver after fastening the seatbelt, and his gaze met Sherlock's.

His eyes were full of concern but they were… damn beautiful. Sherlock shook his head. He was about to die and musing over the beauty of his brother's eyes.

_[There are worse ways to spend your last day.]_

Sherlock didn’t answer. He leaned his head back and pressed the dog against his chest. He looked at his brother again when Mycroft laid a hand on his arm.

“I don't know what's going on with you, Sherlock, but everything will be fine. Tomorrow we'll have time to talk.”

Sherlock felt tears welling up in his eyes. Tomorrow… “That would be great, Mycroft,” he mumbled, feeling as desperate as never before.

*****

“Oh!” Mrs Hudson screamed. “Look at him! Is he cute or what?!”

Sherlock shared a look with his brother once more and Mycroft winked at him. Sherlock had to grin. Well, someone in this house was in love with the little guy already.

“Come in. Shall I help you?” She pointed at the two huge bags Sherlock was carrying.

“No, it's fine.”

“I'll come with you to find the perfect place for him,” she insisted. “John and Rosie will be back soon. I made lunch for all of you.”

“You did?” What had happened to _not your housekeeper_?

“I guess I'll be leaving then after helping you storing all that,” Mycroft said when he started to climb the stairs.

_No!_

“Oh, but you will eat with us,” Mrs Hudson informed him and both brothers stared at her.

“Really?” they said at the same time.

“Of course. Now hurry! Lunch is almost ready and I bet the little guy can't wait to see his new home!”

“It's only one of them,” Sherlock said. “He'll have another one with my brother.” He just hoped it would work out when he was…

“He's very lucky then,” Mrs Hudson said and Mycroft shot her a disbelieving look.

Sherlock would have hugged her if he'd had a free hand. “Thank you,” he mumbled when Mycroft continued his way.

She smiled at him. “I was silly to be so mean to him all the time. He's a good man.”

“He's the best,” Sherlock said, a tad too loud because this time there was no question that Mycroft had heard him when he turned to look at him. Sherlock gave him a smile that was returned at once. Mycroft looked surprised, pleased and touched.

_[There is still hope.]_

_Is it?_

_[There is always hope. Until midnight.]_

Even God sounded pretty resigned now though and Sherlock couldn’t blame him. He was a hopeless case…

Mycroft wouldn't stay in 221B for long before he would have to leave for his meeting. Sherlock would go over to him later and wait for him until he was home. No matter how long it would take. Not because he really thought he would still be able to win and save his life. But he wanted to spend his last hours with him then at least.

*****

“Well, seems everyone is a fan already,” Mycroft said with a smile when they slowly walked to the door.

“Yes, they love him.” Rosie had clapped her tiny hands together when she had seen Mikey, and John had been fond of him at once as well. Mikey seemed to love everybody and had taken a special liking to the baby. They had sat on a blanket on the floor together, Rosie's chubby arms around the dog's neck as if she never wanted to let him go again, and the adults had watched them with a smile, even Mycroft.

They had eaten together and John and Mrs Hudson had tried to include Mycroft in their conversation while Sherlock had mostly stayed quiet, his eyes never leaving his brother. Mycroft had been pleased to not be treated like the devil for a change but he had been cautious and apparently expecting to be mocked or criticised eventually. It hadn't happened but Sherlock could sense he was relieved to be able to leave nonetheless.

“He has found a great family,” Mycroft said when they had reached the door. Mikey was walking next to them and looked up to him with sparkling eyes now.

No, this was wrong! “You are part of this family, Mycroft. Without you he wouldn’t be here.”

 _But you and he don't need me_ Mycroft's eyes said and Sherlock could have screamed.

“He loves you,” he said, unwilling to let his brother go now.

“He loves everybody,” Mycroft said with a shrug.

“I'll bring him over this evening.”

“Well, perhaps tomorrow would be better. I don't know how late I'll be and then I'll be rather tired.”

“No! Please! Let me come to you later!”

“Sherlock, when will you tell me what is happening?” Mycroft stepped closer to him. “I have no idea what you've been up to this week and it's… scary.”

 _Do tell!_ “Please… Just let me come over.”

Mycroft sighed. “I wish you would trust me. But yes. I'll text you once I'm finished with my meeting.”

“Oh, thank you.” Sherlock pulled him into a crushing embrace. After a second of hesitation, Mycroft returned it.

His brother smelled so good, Sherlock realised again. While _he_ was probably stinking from cold sweat… Shaking this thought off, he snuggled into Mycroft's arms, breathing him in. He almost sobbed when Mycroft stroked over his hair and kissed his head.

“I need to go,” he said then, pulling away. “But I hope you know you can always talk to me. I'll always be there for you. I said it and I meant it.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said and now his eyes were full of tears. He shuddered when Mycroft laid a hand on his cheek.

“Bye for now. We'll see each other later then.”

“Promised?”

“Of course. Bye, you two.” And then he was gone.

Sherlock leaned his head against the door. He was so tired all at once. He would take a nap and later he would try for the very last time to figure out what he had to do to make his brother fucking happy…

*****

It was half past nine when Sherlock rang the doorbell. He had Mikey on the leash and fear in his heart.

Mycroft opened up and he looked exhausted. “Come in. Hello, little guy.”

“I'm not that little,” Sherlock made a poor attempt at joking and Mycroft blushed. Why the hell…

“Well, give me your coat.”

Actually it was way too warm to wear it but since it was the last time… He had even thought of putting on the bloody hat but then he had thought there had to be limits for sentimentality…

After lunch Sherlock had finally called his mother and had listened to her chatting about his father and the house and the neighbours for half an hour, desperately trying not to lose the rest of his composure. His father hadn't been at home so he hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to him.

He had spent the afternoon with John and Rosie, and before he had left, he had hugged both of them. He had not known what to say so he had just said _goodbye_. Then he had rung Mrs Hudson's doorbell to do the same. She had looked up to him with eyes full of worry and he had cupped her cheek and left before he could start crying.

And now he was here, and it was almost over. He was feeling resigned yet tense and anxious. There would be no last-second-epiphany for him. He'd had a chance and he had failed miserably. Obviously Mycroft had been right in the end in what he had told him in Sherrinford – he was indeed _the slow one, the idiot_ … He wasn’t surprised that God stayed silent instead of telling him he was wrong.

“Would you like one?” Mycroft asked him when they had reached the living room, pointing at his drink.

“Oh yes.” Sherlock had never needed some booze more than now…

Mycroft poured him a scotch and sat down next to him on the couch. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Sherlock poured down half of the liquid. It burnt in his throat and it was a good feeling. At least he was still able to feel anything now. He wondered which death methods God would offer him…

“Does Mikey need anything?” Mycroft sounded as tense as he was feeling.

“No, he should be fine. He might need some water later.”

“Sure. I filled the bowl in the kitchen.”

Sherlock nodded. He didn’t know what to say. Fuck, he will see me die if I don't go before midnight! He couldn’t do this to his brother. But if he didn’t go, God would not be able to burn him or let him get killed by a robber or whatever. Mycroft would save him! No, God would make sure he would go before, wouldn't he? And what was he thinking at all – Mycroft would send him away long before midnight anyway… But what about Mikey then? He had to stay with his brother! Nothing may happen to the dog!

_[Perhaps you should just concentrate on the here and now, Sherlock.]_

“Sherlock, why did you want to see me tonight?”

He turned his head. Mycroft was looking tired and concerned. “Because… I like to be with you,” he said, and he absolutely meant it. He had avoided his brother's presence for so long, had seen him more like an enemy than like his brother, but during the last couple of days, he had started to absolutely like him. No matter what they said about him – Mycroft had a really good heart.

“I really like you now,” he put his thoughts in words. Why should he hold anything back now? “You are awesome and you always were.” He shivered when Mycroft laid his arm around his shoulder.

“So are you, little brother. I'm stunned that you changed your behaviour towards me so extremely.”

 _Being close to death does change a few things._ But that wasn't all, was it? He really enjoyed being with Mycroft now. He nuzzled his face against his neck. Mycroft wasn't wearing a jacket and his nose touched his bare skin. He blindly reached out for Mycroft's hand but he missed it and made contact with the zipper of his black trousers instead. Instead of taking his hand away from this forbidden zone, he instinctively grabbed what was under it. And Mycroft gasped against his face and Sherlock could feel something growing under the touch of his fingers, and in return Sherlock's pants got very tight in an instant. It had never happened before apart from wet dreams and it was like a shock.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft breathed, sounding shocked as well but under it there was hunger and need in his voice, and all at once Sherlock knew it and he could have hit himself on the head for being so damn slow.

It all fell into place – his jealousy of Pete and even Lady Wrinkleface, the longing for his brother's touch, Angelo being so convinced they were boyfriends and that Mycroft was in love with him, Mycroft's sadness and blushing and embarrassment and tenderness, and the way he had seemed to expect Sherlock to tell him something else with this letter and being sad about them growing together because it had not been the way he had wanted them to be like with each other and, fuck, God's… endless… hints…

_[Hallelujah!]_

_You wanted this?! Fuck, these Elvis-songs! The nasty boys with their insults! It was all to push me into this direction?!_

_[You may be very smart but to be honest, you seemed a little dumb to me at times lately…]_

_You want me to… You planned this?! But it's incest!_

_[No shit, Sherlock! You people made these rules, Sherlock. I only care about one thing. Love. Do you love him?]_

_Fuck, yes!_

_[And do you think he loves you?]_

_Yes!_

_[Well, what are you waiting for then?]_

Sherlock raised his head, their eyes locked, and in Mycroft's baby-blues he could see fear, desire, guilt and sheer _need_ , and then his phone _moaned_ with a text, the noise so loud in the silent room that they both winced. _Irene…_

_No! Not now! How can you do that to me?!_

_[I did not foresee that!]_

Mycroft pulled back at once, his cheeks glowing, his lips pressed together, his eyes full of shock.

And Sherlock remembered how upset and sad his brother had looked all these years ago when he had confronted Sherlock with his knowledge that he had betrayed the country by helping Irene with this damn email. And only now Sherlock understood that his hurt had been at least partly of a completely different nature.

“I'll block her number at once!” Sherlock burst out and fumbled for his phone. Why had he not done that long before?!

Mycroft stood up. “No need for that. I always knew you saved her, Sherlock. You can't leave the country without me being told about it. But I didn’t think you were still under her spell…”

Sherlock was on his feet as well. “What?! No, I'm not! And I never was! She texts me about twice or three times a year, that's it! I never answer! I don't want her and I never did! See, it's over now – she can never contact me again!” He had told John he would sometimes reply to her but that only been a nice lie to make him feel better about texting with _Eurus_. In fact Sherlock had felt a little flattered about Irene's persistence but he had never wanted to be with her. Dealing with her all those years ago had been a challenging game for a change; that was it.

Mycroft shook his head, his face a mask of coldness. “I'm sorry. Let's just forget this… strange moment right now. It was… a moment of weakness. I'm just tired. You should better go now…” He tried to sound cold but his voice was trembling with hurt and desperation.

“No! I won't go!” He threw his phone onto the table and grabbed his brother's shoulders. “I don't want her! I want _you_!”

“ _Want m_ …” Mycroft didn’t get any further as Sherlock kissed him. Furiously, clumsily as he had never really kissed anyone before; a crushing of lips on lips, and then Mycroft, who had been all stiff in his arms, embraced his hips and kissed him back.

Sherlock had never longed for sexually engage with anyone and now he didn’t want anything more… His cock was throbbing in his pants and he needed to feel Mycroft's body without any layers of clothing between them now that he'd had an overdue epiphany. He frantically fumbled with Mycroft's tie, almost strangled him when he removed it, and then he nearly ripped off the buttons of his shirt in his eagerness to get to his brother's skin.

“Wait,” Mycroft said breathlessly, “let me do that and you take care of yourself.”

“Right,” Sherlock hissed, letting him go reluctantly, and he was naked within thirty seconds while his eyes were glued to the pale, hairy skin that Mycroft was revealing now. Since he'd been faster with undressing, he helped Mycroft out of his trousers, briefs and socks and then he dragged him back to the couch, their clothes two messy piles on the floor.

Mycroft lay down on his back, urging Sherlock to cover him with his body. His pupils were wide now, the hunger was back but he also looked shocked and as if he couldn’t believe that this was real. Sherlock kissed him again, rubbing his now very erect cock against Mycroft's which made them both moan, but he pulled back after a moment.

“I love you, Mycroft, I love you so much. And I don't mean just like a brother.” And God had he been blind all this time…

“Oh, Sherlock… I've loved you for so long. And I've always felt so bad about it.”

“Nothing's bad about it. Trust me. Nobody's going to find out and nobody will harm us.”

_Right?!_

_[Right!]_

And then Sherlock's lips were on Mycroft's again, his body rubbing on warm skin, but he wanted more. He slid down on the couch, kissing every piece of skin on his way. He licked over a pink nipple and he nuzzled his face into Mycroft's chest hair, and then his lips wrapped around a hot, wet, thick part of his brother. Mycroft moaned when he licked over the wide head, tasting saltiness. He had never done that before and yet it came so naturally to him. He sucked gently, being rewarded by a few drops of liquid dribbling on his tongue.

_[You're doing that very well!]_

Sherlock couldn’t help but chuckle and could refrain from biting his brother's dick in the last second.

“What's so funny?” Mycroft asked him, sounding surprised. But there was a smile in his voice.

Sherlock couldn't answer (even if he had known how to explain his amusement) so he soothingly stroked over Mycroft's soft, hairy belly and took him in deeper. Mycroft moaned, almost sounding like this godforsaken text alert noise, only a million times more arousing. The sound made Sherlock's cock twitch against the couch and he sucked as hard as he dared to hear it again. And then Mycroft groaned and Sherlock's mouth was flooded with sticky, bittersweet fluid that he swallowed greedily.

_[You are one naughty boy, Sherlock!]_

“God, that was so good!” Mycroft stammered when he was able to speak again. “Sorry, I should have warned you. It came so fast that I couldn’t.”

Sherlock let the softening dick slide out of his mouth and wiped over his wet face. “I loved it.” And he had. Why had he always thought sex was something he couldn’t enjoy?

_[Because you never thought of doing it with this man. And he was always meant for you.]_

It was amazing. If Sherlock hadn't gotten this overdose, he would have never found out. But then… he had been on the other side before after Mary had shot at him! But this had not happened then! He hadn't even been in this tunnel!

_[At this time you weren't ready for it. All you had on your mind was to save John Watson and there was no question then that you would survive. There is a time and a place for everything.]_

Sherlock lay next to his still hard breathing brother. He took him in his arms and held him close. Mycroft was so beautiful. The long arms and legs, his butt so firm and round and inviting, the hair on his upper body, down to his pubes… He couldn’t wait to explore all his treasures. And he couldn’t wait to be taken by him… All the things he had never wanted to do – they were right around the corner now…

“Just give me another moment, Sherlock,” Mycroft mumbled. “Then I'll take care of you.”

Sherlock kissed his forehead. “That's fine, brother mine; just take your time.”

Mycroft smiled against his chin. “Such a poet? You have no idea, Sherlock…”

“No idea about what?”

“How _happy_ you make me!”

And then their mother appeared behind Mycroft, wearing a pale-pink dress and a pearl-necklace. She looked at them in shock, her eyes huge, her hands covering her mouth. Sherlock's heart stopped – and then he relaxed against the cushions.

_Oh, that was…I almost died of a heart attack!_

The old man with the white beard took her place. “Sorry, I couldn't resist.”

Mycroft didn’t turn around but kissed Sherlock's chin; he was totally calm, only recovering from his strong climax.

_He can't hear you?_

“No. Well done, Sherlock Holmes. You shall live another fifty-nine years.”

_What about him?_

“Oh, he'll live even longer – he'll get over hundred. Good genes! And you will be together until death parts you and then spend eternity together in heaven.”

_I still can't believe it. This all…_

Mycroft moved in his embrace. “You okay, Sherlock?” he mumbled sleepily.

“I'm doing great.” Sherlock pressed him closer. His cock was still hard as a rock… Just perhaps it had become even harder over the past seconds.

God smiled. “He'll always be there for you and you for him.”

_What shall I tell John?_

He had promised him an explanation for his strange behaviour and the missing scars. He was surprised Mycroft had not asked about them. But probably he had been overwhelmed about what just had happened between them. And in opposite to John, he hadn't seen Sherlock without clothes after rescuing him in Serbia where he had received the wounds on his back.

“Oh, John will be distracted. He will meet the woman of his life today. Don't worry – she is very nice and will love the dog as well.”

_And Mrs Hudson?_

“She had a suspicion already and will know it. You can talk to her about it and she will never give you away. And you will be very capable of solving cases for Greg Lestrade and your private clients again. Everything will be the same as before besides the fact that from now on your life will be full of romantic love and you'll get all the sex in the world.”

_Thank you. For everything._

It should have been so embarrassing – talking to God while he was holding his naked, spent brother he'd just given the first blowjob of his life and while being naked and aroused himself but it really wasn't.

God smiled. “I knew you would make it.”

_You could have told me!_

The old man shrugged. “I could have. But…”

_…where would have been the fun in that, I know…_

“Exactly! Well, I need to go now.”

_Will I speak with you again? Before I, you know, die?_

“No. But you can always talk to me. I'll hear you. And I'll watch over you. And over all of your beloved ones. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Sherlock whispered and Mycroft lifted his head.

“Sorry?” He looked a bit more awake now.

Sherlock smiled at him. “It's time now. To make _me_ happy!” Not that he wasn’t already. But his body was crying for release. And it was more than physical – he had been so tense and desperate for days and he needed to get rid of any remains of this.

“Would you mind going into my bedroom for that?” Mycroft's hand stroked over his back and disappeared between his cheeks. “We'll need a bit more space for what I want to do with you.”

Sherlock's cock twitched once more at these words. “Oh, certainly not! Mikey – you stay here!”

The dog tilted his head as if to say _Do tell!_ and jumped onto the couch.

Mycroft just smiled and scratched him behind the standing ear. “Be a good boy! We'll come down soon again and play with you.” Of course they had bought plenty of toys for him as well.

“I wish I could move in here,” Sherlock said when they walked to the stairs hand in hand, his hard dick seeming to lead the way.

“So do I. But we'll make it work.” Mycroft sounded totally convinced.

“We definitely will.” Oh they would – after all he'd been through to get here, he would never let his brother slip away from him again.

Mycroft stood before they had reached the bedroom, his fingers pressing Sherlock's almost painfully hard.

“What's wrong?” Sherlock asked him.

“Don't you hear that?”

And now Sherlock did. There was music coming out of the room.

 

_Love me tender,_

_Love me sweet,_

_Never let me go._

_You have made my life complete,_

_And I love you so._  


He grinned and urged Mycroft to walk on. “It's Elvis. You like his songs.” This time he didn’t mind hearing it at all.

“Yes, but I didn’t even touch the player!”

 

_Love me tender,_

_Love me true,_

_All my dreams fulfilled._

_For my darling I love you,_

_And I always will._

 

“Well, I think I should tell you a few things now. About the past days. You might not believe them but it's all true, I swear…”

 

_Love me tender,_

_Love me long,_

_Take me to your heart._

_For it's there that I belong,_

_And we'll never part._

“Well, I definitely want to hear it. But perhaps before we do that we could finish what we started?”

_Love me tender,_

_Love me dear,_

_Tell me you are mine._

_I'll be yours through all the years,_

_Till the end of time._

Sherlock smiled and pulled him close. “Oh, brother, I don't mind at all…”

 

_When at last my dreams come true_

_Darling this I know_

_Happiness will follow you_

_Everywhere you go._  


The End (but just the beginning of a wonderful relationship with steamy sex and all the love they could wish for. And God will watch with delight.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope nobody really thought I would let Sherlock die! Always a happy ending for the boys! :) Thank you for your kudos and comments and for reading another get-together-fic.
> 
> Song: "Love Me Tender", of course again sung by Elvis Presley, copyright Elvis Presley and Vera Matson


End file.
